In The Shadows
by wentworth360
Summary: AU ... A modern origin story
1. Chapter 1

In the Shadows

22 years ago a boy from the stars fell to Earth.

If it had been the 1930s or 40s or 50s or 60s or the 70s and maybe even into the 1980s, you probably would have never heard of him until he wanted you to hear of him. He might have grown up like everyone else and had the time to figure it all out with the support of family and friends around him.

These aren't the 30s to the 80s though and things don't happen in a vacuum anymore. Even the best cover stories fall apart under enough scrutiny. What would be the chances of an average farm couple being able to fool the combined forces of local, state, national and international governments and law enforcement? With all the resources, technology and information available in this digital, counterterrorist, data-mining world, how long would the boy from the stars remain off the radar?

5 years? 10? 15? How long before they would question everyone within a 500 miles radius of the crash site, looking for anything out of the ordinary. How long would it take before someone would look into birth and adoption records of everyone? After 9/11 how long would it be before someone came around wanting to see the baby? If they ran, how long could that same average farm couple stay underground before they were caught?

When they were caught, what if the boy had disappeared?

Into the Shadows.

* * *

Smallville, Kansas – 18 years ago

Jonathan and Martha Kent stood on the porch of their farm house, arm in arm waving as the government sedan pulled away. They were smiling, but this belied both of their worries. The sedan disappeared into the last of the evening light. They were silent as the sun slowly slipped below the horizon.

"John?"

"I know, Martha."

"They'll be back,' she said.

"I know."

They both turned and looked inside their home. One the floor their 4-year-old son was innocently playing with a toy fire truck. He glanced up briefly and smiled at them before returning to his play.

"We need to talk about what we're going to do,' he said.

"He's our boy, John, I'm not going to let them take him,' she replied.

He smiled a warm, generous smile.

"You know what that means then?"

"We can't stay."

"No, we can't." he whispered. "They won't let us keep him if we stay."

"Then our choice is made,' she replied.

He leaned in and kissed her.

"I'm sorry, this isn't the way I wanted things to be,' he whispered. His eyes looked out over their farm before returning to hers. "When I married you, I made so many promises that it doesn't look like I'm going to be able to keep. I'm sorry, Martha, I didn't want it to be this way."

She gently reached up and stroked his cheek before lightly kissing him.

"You've kept the important ones, John," she replied.

"I wanted to do more."

"We love each other, that was always enough,' she said. "Now we're a family, that's all the matters."

He kissed her.

"It's not going to be easy. They'll come looking for us, for him."

"Then we'll keep moving,' she said. "He's our boy, John."

"Yes, he is,' Jonathan said with a smile. "He deserves a chance and I'm not going to let them take that away."

'We're not going to let them take it away.' She corrected her husband.

* * *

Smallville, Kansas – 5 years ago

The running was over. Living underground, always on the run had taken its toll on Martha Kent. The once warm, generous smile had been replaced by a hard, world-weary stare. The constant moving over the years had worn down her husband, Jonathan, until his heart finally gave out. His dying wish was to go home, back to Smallville and be buried with his people. Martha had promised to make that happen, which she did. Like everything else about the last few years it had come with a price. Federal agents stood on either side of her as she listened to the preacher deliver his eulogy over the open grave. More agents patrolled the perimeter, weapons at the ready. Martha's hands were cuffed and her ankles shackled. It had been something of a coup catching them, the modern day, middle age Bonnie and Clyde as the press had dubbed them. The only blemish against it being a complete success was the boy had disappeared.

The agents found no photographs, nothing to identify him, not even a name. Hour after hour of grueling interrogation had yielded nothing. All Martha Kent would say was "he's gone and you won't find him if he doesn't want to be found." Threats hadn't worked, as her expression remained stone cold and stoic to all of them. So the authorities tried a different tactic. They granted her request that her husband be buried in his family's plot. They thought perhaps showing some goodwill would change her mind. It hadn't but she didn't tell them that.

Trying to block out the constant chatter of the agents, silently she said her good byes to the man she loved. A few tears came, but just a few. They had made vows to each other about in sickness and health, good times and bad and through it all they had kept them. A few of the old friends stopped to offer their condolences, but the squad of agents circling the small cemetery ensured they didn't stay too long. As the preacher finished, Martha shuffled forward and took a handful of dirt. She slowly let it slip through her fingers, whispering a silent prayer for Jonathan to find the peace in the next life this one hadn't afforded him. He was a good and honorable man, she thought, she had no complaints.

"Unknown civilian on the hilltop!" Came over the radios the agents were using.

Martha glanced up and saw him. The jeans and hoodie were like a million other boys his age wore, but she would know him anywhere. Clark, their boy had come to the funeral. She'd told him not to, that it was too dangerous, but it seemed she wasn't the only one that wanted to say good-bye.

"It's him! It's the boy!" An agent shouted. Guns were drawn and aim was taken.

"Run!" Martha screamed, lunging towards the nearest agent. They took her move as hostile. As she slapped at the gun in the agent's hand, he fired and then others fired. Instantaneously the air was filled with bullets. Things seemed to go in slow motion for Martha as she felt herself falling, the impact of being shot multiple times didn't seem to register at first.

"NO!"

It was a scream of someone having his heart ripped out. One moment he was on the hill and the next a wave of red washed over the agents. Their weapons meant nothing against it. Screams started as flesh was burned away along with muscle until only bones remained. It was over in a blink of an eye. Everything was quiet again.

He was at her side in the next moment. She could see the tears in his eyes and the anguish in his expression.

"This is my fault, my fault, all of it,' he mumbled, the emotions too much for him.

She knew she was fading fast. The pain of her wounds hit her like a sledgehammer and she winced against them, willing herself not to cry out. There would be no last minute rescues this time.

"Listen, listen, listen to me,' she whispered. "It wasn't your fault. Your father and I knew what we were doing and would do it again. We regret nothing."

She could see her blood staining the front of his shirt as the tears rolled down his face.

"Don't let them win, son,' she said. "If you let your anger consume you then all we did was for nothing. Show them you're better than that. Show them all."

She raised her hand and slowly brushed the tears from his face. Her boy, the son she and Jonathan thought they would never have. It had seemed like a miracle when they found him, yet others had tried to turn it into a nightmare. The years of running and hiding seemed worth it as she looked up into his eyes. They were protecting their boy so one day he'd have his chance.

"Promise me, son.'

"I promise, Ma."

He felt her hand slip away and her body went limp. Her heart stopped and he heard that too. He held her against his chest weeping uncontrollably.

"Son, I know it doesn't seem like it, but this is all part of God's plan,' the preacher said. "Turn yourself in, my boy. Do the right thing."

"Get away from me!" He shouted, not even turning to look at the man as he gently rocked his slain mother in his arms.

* * *

Washington – Several hours later.

General Lane and Eiling, of military intelligence, Lynch of covert operations, Amanda Waller of Special Projects, Steve Trevor of the newly formed A.R.G.U.S. and a whole host of high ranking officials from the various branches of government and the intelligence community sat and listened to the end of the briefing. The room was oblong, the windows tinted and shuttered. It was sound proof and what was said in here was implicitly understood to not leave here.

"We lost him after that. He moved too fast for us to track him."

"So he killed a whole squad of agents and we're no closer to finding him,' Lane growled.

"I think his actions tell us all we need to know. He's hostile and extremely dangerous. This alien just made number one of the most wanted list." Eiling added

'Wanted alive.' Amanda Waller added.

Most of the others nodded in agreement.

"It was his father's funeral and they killed his mother right in front of his eyes,' Steve Trevor said. "What did you think the boy would do? In his situation I would have done the same damn thing if I could."

"This boy as you call it, isn't from this world,' Lynch said. "He looks like us, but he's not one of us. I would think your experience with Metas would have taught you something Trevor. They're a threat and this one could be the worst of all."

"He's a 17 year old boy, Lynch.'

"He's a weapon,' General Lane countered. "A very dangerous and valuable weapon."

"You saw the technology in the space craft, Steve,' Waller said. "This alien 'boy' as you call him, is the key to unlocking all of it for us. Who knows what other wonders we might find if we can capture and study him."

"Study?' Steve scoffed. "You mean keep him in a cage until you let your scientists dissect him, don't you, Amanda?"

"I think everyone was clear what I meant when I said study him," she replied.

"I still say the wise move is to kill him on sight,' General Eiling grumbled. "We don't give him another chance to do what he did to those agents."

"That's why you're not in charge of the decision, General,' Lynch replied. "Anything you don't understand you want to kill. As the others have already said, the potential value is too high with this one. We keep looking."

"And if he doesn't want to cooperate?' Eiling asked.

"Then we can always kill him,' Lynch replied.

"He's still just a boy,' Steve Trevor said to no one in particular as he slowly shook his head.


	2. Chapter 2

Azure Skies

Somewhere on a wide gash of Interstate 40 in the vicinity of Santa Rosa, New Mexico heading towards Arizona, a small, beat up old truck with a camper attachment in the bed rolled along. The sun was setting as they came over a small rise. Along the horizon line the world had been turned to pure white. Driving into it, the front window shield and the occupants were illuminated in an intense golden yellow. A wasteland of sand and shrubs in every direction, shades of white, yellow and brown composed the landscape. The windows were down, as the old truck's air conditioning didn't work and even in the early evening, heat radiated from all around like a furnace.

Jonathan Kent had one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the window ledge. His rolled up shirtsleeve fluttered in the breeze as he hummed along with ELO's _Telephone Line_ playing on the Oldies station. Martha sat in the passenger seat reading Abbie Hoffman's _Steal This Book_ and on the dash in front of her lay Bill Ayers' _Fugitive Days_. Her left arm leisurely rested around their young son's shoulder as he dozed between them in the sweltering heat.

They were six month out.

Like a generation of Midwest farmers before them, they were heading west hoping that better times awaited them. Like those before them they had left everything they knew behind and found the road harder then they had imagined. Unsure of what to do or how to proceed, they did what many had before them. They read what others had done in similar situations. Sixties radicals, the Freemen on the Land movement and the Aryan Nations were the most recent examples. Jonathan and Martha weren't interested in the ideology or politics of any of it, finding most of it repugnant to their own believes, but read it anyway just for the practical nuts and bolts of staying off the radar and slipping into that other world of the underground. As farmers they understood that even in the worst pile of shit sometimes you find a rose.

All around the truck cab and in the camper were other books on history, math and science. They knew their boy would never be able to attend a regular school, as that would involve birth certificates, shot records and an avalanche of paperwork they didn't possess, but they were determined to give him an education. There wouldn't be any computers or online classes, only books, the 100 great books that would eventually make up his education. Most of them he wasn't ready for yet. _The Golden Bough, Gargantua and Patagruel, Don Quixote, Gulliver's Travels _were read more as adventure stories for him now, but hopefully as he grew older his active mind would be stimulated by the ideas and concepts of all the texts. It was the best plan they'd come up with. Most of the books they hadn't read themselves and it was slow going at first.

Nights so far had been spent in rest stops and small, out of the way trailer parks. The small camper didn't allow for anything special as far as sleeping arrangements or food went, but it kept them out of the elements and the food was hot and filling. They tried to give their son time to be a kid, so there was endless hours on swings, merry-go-rounds and slides when they could find them. Reading the stories or just listening to music on one of those hand crank radios filled the others hours before bedtime. They were cautious about interacting with those they met. It took some getting used to giving false names and remembering to answer to them.

Basic things they'd been able to figure out on their own. If a clean cut, conservative farmer let's his hair, beard and mustache grow he took on the appearance of someone who wasn't a clean cut conservative farmer. Like most women Martha understood that hair dye and makeup can subtly change your appearance, it was just a matter of how much you wanted to change it as to how you applied the makeup and hair dye. It was harder to unlearn instinctive habits like becoming detached from your name so when someone called the name John or Martha they didn't automatically look. It was actually easier for their son, as his name wasn't tied to so many memories or past experiences. It was all a game to him. One week he was Clark, the next Jim, the next Dean, the next Kal, the next Paul and so on and so on. He would answer to whatever name he was told to use and surprisingly never seemed to get them confused.

* * *

Metropolis – Now

"So you see boys, things are backed up so your pay is going to be a couple of days later than usual."

Grumbling went through the group of landscape workers as they listened to Marty Canfield, their boss, tell them once again they weren't going to get paid like they should.

"How long?" Someone asked.

"A couple a days, maybe a week,' Marty replied. More complains came. "Hey, hey, need I remind you that you're lucky you have jobs! One anonymous call to the INS or the local police from a concerned citizen and most of you would be heading back to where you came from with nothing! I'm doing you a favor here!"

Marty smiled, he knew his little threat would keep them quiet. He took a drag on his cigarette and let it sink in.

"Now get the hell out of here and be back at 6 A.M. sharp tomorrow! We got a busy day and lots of landscaping orders to fill!" He turned to head back into his office.

"You owe us money."

He turned to see one of the men step forward. He was a new guy, Kal, young, tall and tanned. His paperwork had been as iffy as the others, but he was strong and didn't complain about doing the hardest jobs.

"What was that?" Marty asked.

"I said, you owe us money."

"That's what I thought you said,' Marty replied, taking a step towards the young man. "I just told you it's been delayed. If you don't like it, that's too bad."

The young man took a step closer.

"I don't like it,' he said. "You made an agreement with all of us. We did our part."

"Agreements? What the hell are you talking about? None of you signed a contract with me?"

"We have a verbal contract,' the young man replied. "We do the work, you pay us. That's the agreement. We did our part, but you're not holding up your end. We want our money."

"Does he speak for all of you?" Marty asked the others. No one spoke up. He looked back at Kal and smiled. "Doesn't seem like yours friends agree with you, Kal?"

"Than I'm just speaking for me. I want my money, that you owe me."

Marty didn't like the kid's attitude and took a step closer.

"You'll get it when everyone else gets paid,' Marty replied. "Or maybe you won't get it at all if the police suddenly show up looking around, Kal. You wouldn't like that, would you?"

Marty had been in this business for a long time and had dealt with troublemakers before. He knew he had all the leverage and if he had to loss a man here or there, it was just part of doing business. He guessed this punk kid had a record, otherwise he wouldn't be doing a shitty job like this for such low wages. Marty really didn't care what his story was, as long as it helped Marty dictate the terms of how things worked. He figured he'd teach this kid who was in charge right now. He stepped closer to intimidate him.

"You'll get paid when I decide to pay you, just like everyone else,' Marty said. "That's the way things work around here, Kal. How do you like it?"

"I don't."

"Tough."

Marty was inches away from him. He looked into the young man's eyes expecting to see something, fear, resignation, intimidation, something, but he didn't see it. Instead, the coldest, bluest eyes he'd ever seen just stared out of the young, tanned face at him. A bead of sweat trickled down Marty's face as he involuntarily took a step back.

"You think because you can threaten us it gives you power,' Kal said. "You think that little bit of power you have over people less fortunate makes you strong. It doesn't. It's just an illusion that let's you treat others like dirt and enjoy it, but that's all it is, an illusion."

"Get-Get this guy out of here!" Marty shouted to the others.

The rest of the crew immediately came up and surrounded Kal, urging him to leave with them and avoid any trouble. He didn't move for a moment, just continued to stare at Marty before finally relenting and moving off with the others. Marty watched him leave as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Something about that kid unsettled him and it wasn't right. Maybe he'd make that call to the cops after all, Marty thought and teach that punk a lesson.

* * *

Jupiter Florida – 10 years ago

Fruit needs picking, beef, pork and chicken needs processed, cows need milking, roofs need someone to hang the shingles and landscaping needs people to push the mowers and haul the dirt. Hotels, motels, homes and businesses need someone to clean them. Restaurants and fast food chains need dishes washed. There are thousands of jobs nobody wants, but people have to do. Those in charge aren't always that concerned about where you came from or if your papers were in order. They just wanted the work done at the lowest possible cost. Johnathan and Martha Kent had learned this in their time underground. They had read how all the others had done it, but found their own way in the end. It hadn't been a conscious choice, just the reality of their situation.

Year after year they slipped further and further down the economic ladder until they just became part of the anonymous masses at the bottom. They took the work they could find and didn't complain. Hard manual labor has a way of aging you, both physically and emotionally. This plus the years of almost constant movement had taken its toll on Jonathan and Martha.

They were packing up to move again. There had been a fight at the plant and Jonathan had gotten involved. The authorities had been called so it was time to disappear again. As they packed up the old truck, that had seen better days, Clark appeared from behind the house.

"We're leaving again?" He asked.

"Yeah, so get your stuff together,' Jonathan said. "Your mother has enough to do without doing your work too."

Clark was at the age now where he understood why things were the way they were. The moving was always tough, giving up newly made friends and having to start all over, but more and more his young mind was starting to understand the toll this was taking on his parents. It seemed everyday he grew stronger, while they grew older and weaker.

"I'm sorry, Pa."

Jonathan stopped what he was doing and turned to look at his son. Martha was just bringing another load out and stopped on the top step.

"How's that?" Jonathan asked.

"I'm sorry,' Clark replied. "Pa, Ma, I know this is all because of me. If you didn't have to protect me, you'd be happy back in Kansas."

Jonathan and Martha exchanged looks. She set her bundle down as Jonathan moved towards the old picnic bench that sat on the side of the rented bungalow.

"Come sit down a moment, Clark."

"It's Roy this week, dad,' he replied.

"Not today,' Jonathan said with a smile. "It's Clark, now sit down."

Clark reluctantly sat down as his parents moved over and sat on either side of him. He knew this was serious as they used his real name.

"Why do you think it's your fault, Clark?" Jonathan asked.

"Because it is,' he replied. "I'm different from everyone else and that's why those men from the government want to find us. It's why we keep changing our names and moving from town to town. It's why you and Ma have to take all those shitty jobs. It's all to protect me."

"Watch you language young man,' Martha immediately replied. Jonathan looked over at her and smiled.

"Martha,' he said.

"Don't Martha me, John, I'm still his mother and won't tolerate that sort of language from him."

"Sorry, Ma."

"Clark," Jonathan said. "I'm not going to lie to you. Yes, that is part of it, keeping you safe, but it's not all of it. In this life all of us have to make choices. Some are hard and some are easy. Once you make those choices you have to live with the consequences. Your mother and I made our choice a long time ago and we've never regretted it."

"It was an easy choice to make, Clark,' Martha added. "An easy life was never promised us and we're not going to blame anyone else for how things turned out."

"This life has been hard, but it hasn't so terrible,' Jonathan said. "We've seen and done things we probably never would have in another life. Most importantly we've done them as a family. Most people live a life full of regret, but we haven't. If that means things are a bit harder than that's the way it has to be. It's no more your fault than ours, it's just how things worked out. We made choices and we live with the consequences."

"But you had to quit your job again,' Clark asked. "That was because of them contacting the authorities, wasn't it? You were afraid they'd catch us. That's my fault."

Martha looked over at Jonathan and sighed.

"I'll let you handle this one, John, I've got packing to do,' she said and then headed back towards the bungalow.

"Isn't it, Pa?"

"I didn't quit, Clark, I was fired,' Jonathan admitted.

"Why?"

Jonathan struggled to find the the words for a moment.

"Pa?"

"It's like we were just saying, Clark, you make choices in your life and you have to be prepared to live with the consequences,' Jonathan finally explained.

"What happened?"

"There was a fight at the plant and I got involved."

"You?" Clark said, shocked at the news. "Why?'

"Because I couldn't just walk away and pretend nothing was happening."

"I don't understand."

Jonathan hadn't planned on having this discussion with his son just yet, but now there seemed no alternative.

"Do you remember when we read the book on great historical speeches?' Jonathan asked. Clark nodded that he did. "There's a line in one of them that has stuck with me, about how one day we should live in a nation where people will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I'd heard it before, but reading it again after seeing what we've seen it's taken on a special meaning for me."

"How?"

"It's easy to stereotype or hate people you don't know, Clark,' Jonathan explained. "They seem different and perhaps a little scary, but once you meet them and get to know them they stop being a faceless group and become individuals. You can like or dislike an individual, but to hate a whole group of people because they're not like you is just wrong."

"Is that what the fight was about?" Clark asked.

"Partly,' Jonathan replied. "I haven't figured it all out yet, son, but more and more I think it comes from fear and ignorance. It seems some people are only happy when they can feel better than someone else or have someone else to blame. Their lives might be miserable but they want to make sure someone else's is even worse. They're bullies picking on those more vulnerable then they are, to give themselves the illusion of power. It's what petty dictators have been doing for years. So when I saw one of the foremen at the plant using his position to make the people that worked for him miserable just because they were poor or minorities, I couldn't let it go. I stood up to him and that's when the fight started."

"But you stood up for what's right, Pa, you shouldn't have been fired for that,' Clark said.

"I made a choice, Clark and I have to accept the consequences,' Jonathan replied. "If doing the right thing was easy, everyone would do it."

* * *

Metropolis – Now

"Hey, look, I just told you where they were, it's not my fault you missed them." Marty said into the phone. "You're the police officer, Teddy, it should have been an easy round up of some illegals. Hell, I'm out a full crew, do you realize that? Just by helping you, I have to find people to replace them. Yeah, I guess I could double up on the others crews for the time being, but that's not the point, Teddy. Don't bitch at me because you botched the raid!"

Marty slammed down the phone and sat back in his chair. He was worried; things hadn't gone as they were supposed to. He'd pulled this racket before, calling the police to pull a raid just when it was payday. He didn't do it that often or word would get around and he'd never be able to hire any more illegals. He did it just enough that it could seem random, just bad luck. It also helped his bottom line considerably. There was nobody around after the raid to complain.

This time hadn't been about most of the crew, although Marty certainly remembered there that been others grumbling about not getting paid, no this time it was about that punk kid, Kal. Hell, Marty hadn't even bothered to find out his last name before he hired him. His application was on Marty's desk now, but the last name was illegible. The kid's references were all bogus too, but usually Marty didn't care about that either.

They'd all just disappeared. Marty's pal, Teddy from Metro PD, said the crappy old trailer they were all staying had been completely cleared out. It was like they knew the cops were coming, but that was impossible. Frankly it spooked Marty. He remembered he'd told his secretary to go home while he waited for Teddy's call, but now Marty felt nervous. He opened his top drawer and took out his 38.

"That won't help."

"What the fuck?" Marty shouted, raising the gun towards the sound of the voice. "Who the fuck are you?"

"I want my money, in fact, I want all our money."

The figure stepped into the room and Marty recognized him, the punk kid.

"Kal! You made a mistake coming back here, boy,' Marty shouted. "The police are looking for you as we speak."

"They won't find me,' he replied. "The others are gone too. I told them you tipped the cops off."

"How could you know that?" Marty gasped.

The young man took a step closer and Marty raised the gun.

"Don't come any closer, kid! You're trespassing so I'm entitled to stand my ground and shoot you."

"I told you already that won't help,' he stated.

"What do you think you can dodge bullets, punk?" Marty scoffed.

"Yes."

Something about the way he said it made Marty nervous. For just a moment he actually believed the kid could dodge them. He quickly pushed that idea out of his head as crazy.

"Look, kid, one phone call and the police will be all over this place,' Marty said. "I don't want to shoot you, but I will. They'll lock you up and that will be that. You lose. Get out of here now and maybe I won't call them.'

"I'm not leaving without what you owe us."

"You're not getting it, so fuck off!"

Somehow he moved faster than Marty could follow. One moment Marty was holding the gun and the next the kid was taking it apart and dropping the pieces on his desk.

"How did you do that?" Marty gasped.

"I read a book on it once." Kal replied. "Now why don't you open the safe and pay us what you owe us?"

"What safe?"

"The one in the floor to the right of your desk,' he said, pointing to the exact spot.

Now Marty was scared. The trick with the gun was amazing, but how he knew about he safe was too much. He had to be guessing, Marty figured, so he called his bluff.

"There's no safe in the floor."

Again the kid moved faster than Marty could follow. It seemed like his fingers went right through the carpet and then against all odds he somehow pulled the entire safe out of the floor. Marty could hear the concrete shatter and then a block of it along with the safe it surrounded was sitting on his desk.

"What the fuck?" Marty shouted, jumping back and nearly tipping over his chair.

"Now open it or I will."

Marty just nodded and began turning the dial. It took a moment, but finally he opened it.

"Go ahead, steal it all,' Marty said, as he sat back and wiped the sweat pouring down his face. The kid didn't reply at first, just scanned the cash and took only part of it.

"Its not stealing, I'm only taking what you owe us,' he replied. "I told you we had an agreement. We lived up to our part and now you're living up to your part."

"You're only taking some of the money?" Marty asked in disbelief.

"The rest isn't mine,' he replied.

"It won't matter when the cops find you,' Marty spat out.

"They won't." he said and then added. "Just in case you do call them, the others aren't involved. This was my choice and I'll accept the consequences that might come from it."

"You're still a punk in my book, kid."

"And you're a scared little man that takes advantage of others who are vulnerable to make yourself to feel powerful," he replied. "I told you it was an illusion that let you treat others like dirt. Call the cops if you want to, but know if I hear you've pulled this stunt again on anyone else, I'll be back."

Like a magician he was gone. Marty started to reach for the phone but stopped. He looked at the safe on his desk and the disassembled gun next to it and pulled his hand back.


	3. Chapter 3

Poor

Baltimore – 10th Avenue Free Clinic – 9 years ago

The waiting room was standing room only. Jonathan was finally back seeing a doctor about his high blood pressure and hopefully to get a refill on his pills. Clark found a seat for his mother and stood next to her. They had been here 3 hours already. Most of the people around them had been waiting just as long. It was one of the things you learned when you're poor. The world runs on other people's time. You're constantly reminded that their time is more valuable then yours.

The Kent family or whatever name they were using that week, were poor. Even back on the farm things had been tight, but since hitting the road they hadn't gotten tighter. They both worked and now that Clark was 13 he pitched in where he could, mostly odd jobs that didn't check too closely his age. The family had adjusted to their circumstances, but it was hard going.

There is no shame in being poor, or at least there never used to be. The overwhelming majority of people since the beginning of time were poor. They still are. In fact the idea of a middle class is a relatively new concept. For most of human history you were either rich or poor, with the overwhelming likelihood being you were poor. If you're reading this, consider yourself one of the lucky ones. You're probably not poor.

That isn't to say hurrah for being poor!

It's just the way things are. No one wants to be poor, but most of the people that are really don't have a choice in the matter. Lately it seems some people have forgotten that. They rail against the poor as takers not makers, or free loaders gaming the system. There's always a lot of talk about personal responsibility and pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps. They hold up one example as sort of anecdotal evidence that if this person can do it, then everyone should. They take the bold stand in favor of cutting food stamps or drug testing welfare recipients. They talk a lot about reigning in entitlements as fiscally responsible, yet those on the other end of the spectrum, the corporations and wealthiest one percent pay less in taxes then they ever have.

The problem with standing up for the poor is there's no money in it.

A single **person** household on Welfare will show an expected **average** of up to $200 **per month, with an additional **$133.08 per month in food assistance per person. If that's gaming the system, it's a weak job of it.

Some conservative scholars argue that the government must stop "**coddling**" the poor with welfare benefits and often attribute the prevalence of inequality and working poverty to overregulation and over taxation. Of course liberal scholars have a different opinion. It is interesting that no matter which side they are on, those scholars offering solutions have one thing in common. None of them are actually poor, quite the opposite really, so all their theories really have no real world consequences for them if they're wrong. It also makes you wonder about those advocating for certain programs or advocating reducing welfare benefits and enacting less stringent labor laws. Who are they really interested in helping?

Follow the money.

One of the euphemisms for being poor is disadvantaged. In many senses that comes close to explaining a lot. Bill Gates learned computer coding in his junior high school in the 1960s. Most poor school districts didn't even see a computer until the 1980s or 1990s. Now that's a disadvantage.

If you're poor the likelihood that someone you know or someone in your family being in jail is high, as is the likelihood someone else close to you has a drug problem. So at the bottom end of the economic spectrum what you had is a poorly educated, violent, drug filled world with little or no chance at any upward mobility that's getting larger all the time. It's surprisingly easy to slip into being poor, but much harder to climb back out.

Of course there are those abusing the system. That happens with every system and always will. Does 200 bucks a month, plus another 140 in food stamps really sound like you're getting one over on anybody?

These probably weren't the thoughts going through a 13-year-old Clark's mind at the time. They were more the silent sorts of lessons we all experience as we grew up in relation to our status in society. Without putting it into words society reinforces roles and views towards all of us in a million little ways we're not always conscious of. When you're poor those assumptions come fast and furious. Add in being illegal and people can say pretty much anything they want about you and get away with it. Others views of you get shaped by those assumptions and words, so even if they aren't true, they become the prevailing view. That's how stereotypes are born.

What a 13-year-old Clark was thinking about was the same thing most 13-year-old boys think about, girls. There were a couple of girls around his age in the waiting room and occasionally they would look over and smile at him. He'd noticed, but so had Martha Kent. Her son was becoming a handsome young man and it seemed more and more young women were noticing. Like most mothers she both liked that thought and didn't like that thought. He was her little boy after all. She worried about when that noticing turned into something more. She knew there were certain things no matter how much a mother might not want them to happen, they always do happen. She thought perhaps it would be best if she were there the first time he did more than just notice girls. They were waiting anyway, so now seemed as good a time as any.

"Why don't you say hello to them, Clark?"

His head snapped around like it was on a swivel.

"Wh-What?"

"Those two girls that have been smiling at you and you've been smiling back at,' Martha explained. "Why don't you go talk to them?"

"No." He tried to sound as adamant as his 13 year old voice could on the subject.

"Oh, don't be shy, honey,' Martha said. "How about I invite the over here, then?"

"Definitely, NO."

"Are you sure?" She asked. "I could just wave them over and introduce you. How does that sound?"

"Like a nightmare. Please, please, don't embarrass me, Ma,' he pleaded.

"Embarrass you?" Martha replied. "I'm not, I promise. I just thought you might need a little help meeting them. Is that so bad?"

"Having my mom call over two girls and introduce me? Yeah, that's embarrassing,' he replied. "I'm okay with this, really. I don't need any help, Ma."

"Oh really?" Martha said with surprise. "Are you saying you've already talk to girls?"

Now he wasn't sure what to say. Thankfully, Jonathan emerging out of the back rescued him.

"Pa's done, we should get going,' Clark quickly said.

"We're not done talking about this,' Martha said as she got up and moved towards her husband. "So what did the doctor say?"

"My blood pressure's a little high, but he gave me another prescription,' Jonathan said. "I'm also supposed to watch what I eat."

"Did you ask him about the weight loss?"

"Yes, he said it was probably stress, but that it wasn't anything to worry about right now."

"Stress? That's all he said?' Martha asked. "Did he run any tests or anything?"

"No, but he did set me up for an X-ray at the hospital,' Jonathan replied. "So why don't we get out of here. We've been here long enough."

"Sounds good,' Clark replied, heading for the door.

"We need to talk about something concerning him, John,' Martha whispered.

"What? Did something happen while I was in the back?"

"Yes."

"Trouble?"

"Yes,' Martha replied. "Girls."

"Oh."

Martha didn't see the small smile that came to Jonathan's face as they exited.

* * *

Metropolis – Now

Most of the landscaping crew was around Clark's age. So when he got them their money, all of their money and tipped them off to the raid, they felt like celebrating. Being 22, hitting the clubs and perhaps meeting someone sounded pretty good to Clark, so he joined them. They all piled into the vintage Chevy Impala and headed out for a night on the town.

While Clark and the rest of the crew had all grown up poor, that didn't mean that everything was a grind. There were good times, just like everyone else. While the world from the bottom up may be loud, violent, angry and dangerous, it's also where most of the modern culture comes from. Music, fashion, language, it doesn't come from the top down, but from the bottom up. When cool hunters go out looking for the next big thing to rip off, they head for the street not the picket-fenced suburbs.

Tonight, as the Impala rolled down the streets of Metropolis, a mix of Latin flavored hip-hop blasting from the speakers they were heading towards a hot club that would be the talk of the Metropolis' elite in-crowd in six months. Besides the music the car was filled with laughter and talk about what they were going to do. It was filled with hope for what the very near future would bring.

* * *

Detroit – Now

Two miles below the A.R.G.U.S. field office was something only those with the highest clearance even knew existed. They called it the Circus. It was basically a prison run by A.R.G.U.S. for beings they called Breachers. Breachers were beings from other dimensions and other worlds that had arrived on Earth. Amanda Waller was in charge of the project. At the moment she was no happy. Steve Trevor, the official head of A.R.G.U.S. had just found out about the Circus's existence after being on the job for five years. He wasn't happy either. He'd shown up at the Detroit office, demanding to see it. After some general confusion, Amanda had arrived and reluctantly agreed to show him the facility. They were currently two miles below ground and she was showing him around.

"So as you can see, each pod is specifically designed to hold the Breacher and neutralize their abilities,' Amanda said as she gestured to the containment areas. "Any other questions, Steve?"

"I have about a million questions, Amanda,' he replied.

"I'm on a tight schedule, Steve, so why don't you hit the most important ones?"

"Why?"

"Because these creatures invaded Earth,' Amanda explained. "They are violent and had to be put somewhere for the time being."

"How did they get here?"

"It's sort of in the name, Steve, they breached dimensions," Amanda replied. "We've noticed over the past few months there has been a weakening in the divide more than usual. As a result of this more of these creatures have been arriving all the time."

"So this is some sort of inter-dimensional prison?" Steve asked. "Why wasn't I told about this before? I am supposed to be in charge of A.R.G.U.S. Amanda."

"And I'm still your boss,' she replied. "It was on a need to know basis. It was decided you didn't need to know. Some questions have been raised about your attitude towards this sort of threat."

"This is about that boy, isn't it?" Steve grumbled. "It's been five years, Amanda and you still haven't found him. He hasn't done anything to threaten Earth in all that time. Doesn't that tell you anything? I suppose you have a cage all ready for him down here too?"

"Yes, it's has something to do with that boy, as you call him, Steve, but that's not the only concern,' Amanda stated. "Your new meta girlfriend, Wonder Woman and your continued championing of her raised questions too."

"If you're all so worried about me, why not just fire me?" He asked.

"Because you're good at your job, Steve,' Amanda explained. "Your experience is a valuable commodity and might be needed in the future."

"Always practical, aren't you, Amanda?" Steve said, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm.

"Let me ask you, Steve, this new group your girlfriend has just joined, the Justice League,' Amanda said. "They've only been together a short time, but they've already demonstrated their abilities. What happens if they get out of hand? Who's going to stop them if they do?"

"What are you talking about, Amanda? The Justice League came together and saved us all from those supervillians plans to take over the world,' Steve stated. "The President is honoring them right now!"

"Yes, Batman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, Cyborg, Shazam, Aquaman and Green Lantern stopped the threat this time, but it only showed us that we need a team of our own,' Amanda replied. "They are affiliated with no one and so far answer to no one. Our government sees them and the rise of other Meta threats as a warning that the game's changing. We need our own team."

"And how does that have anything to do with this place?"

"Think of this as a recruiting ground for our team,' Amanda said with a smile.

"You're going to use these aliens for that?"

"Some of them, perhaps."

"The boy?"

"He's hardly a boy anymore, Steve,' Amanda replied. "Yes, there's been talk about it when we find him, but most are more worried about him than anything else. He's been able to blend in all this time and that makes him more dangerous than the others. That's another aspect of this place. We're using some of the aliens to find the aliens that have slipped through the cracks. Your boy is a perfect example."

"He'll never work for you, Amanda,' Steve stated. "I don't know anything about him, but what he's been through already makes your chances nil at recruiting him. You represent the people who killed his family. He's not going to forget that."

"Then he'll stay in the cell specifically designed for him, Steve." Amanda replied. "Now if there are no more questions, I'm late for another appointment."

Steve just shook his head and followed Amanda as she headed towards the elevator back to the top. As they were walking, Steve noticed a massive titanium door that resembled a bank vault except on a much bigger scale with a large Omega symbol on the door.

"What or who is that for?" He asked.

"That's project Omega, Steve,' Amanda said. "That's definitely not something you need to know about."

* * *

Baltimore – 9 years ago

Martha and Jonathan had discussed their son's interesting in girls and it was decided, actually Martha decided, that it was time for Jonathan to have a man-to-man talk with Clark. Jonathan wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea, but he'd been married to Martha long enough to know he wouldn't win this argument. Reluctantly he stepped out the backdoor of the small house they'd rented and walked over to their son. Clark was currently under the hood of the old truck.

"Clark, what are you doing?" Jonathan asked.

When his dad used his real name, Clark knew something was up. He'd also heard his parents' discussion earlier.

"I, um, I'm fixing the truck,' he replied. "I read a book about it and thought I could save us some money if I fixed it myself."

"Good thinking,' Jonathan said. He was always impressed with his son's abilities. "So how's it going?"

""Okay,' Clark wearily replied. "The truck is in pretty good shape."

"Good, good,' Jonathan said with a nod. He really wasn't sure how to start this particular conversation.

"Mom wants you to talk to me, doesn't she?' Clark said.

"You heard that, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it's just that you're getting older now, Clark and she, well, we feel it's time we discussed what that means.' Jonathan fumbled to say.

"I know about sex, Pa,' Clark replied, still under the hood of the truck.

"Yeah, I figured you're read a book about that too,' Jonathan replied. "The way you can remember stuff you could probably tell me some things I don't know."

Clark didn't respond. Jonathan glanced back at the house and knew Martha was watching. He figured he might as well get this over with. First though, he wanted to clarify something before they began.

"When you said you know, you don't mean you have, did you?"

"No," Clark admitted, blushing just a bit.

"Okay then,' Jonathan replied, a bit relieved at that. He'd been thrown for a moment, but now he felt like he was back on solid ground. "Clark, come out from under the hood and let's talk."

Clark closed the hood and slowly walked over to his father. It always amazed Jonathan how someone who could move as fast as Clark could move so slow when he wanted to.

"Sit down, son."

The two of them sat down in two of those cheap plastic patio chairs you see at the discount stores. Jonathan rubbed his hands together, while Clark sat back and just waited.

"I'm not really good at this,' Jonathan admitted. "The only advice my father gave me was to be like Mr. Heinz and sample all 57 varieties. Your grandfather wasn't the sort that liked to talk about these sorts of things."

"We don't have to either, Pa,' Clark offered hopefully. ""I do understand how everything works, really."

Jonathan smiled at this. It seemed Clark was more like him than he'd imagined.

"Well, understanding is different than doing, son." Jonathan glanced back at the house. "Some times sex is the easiest part of being in a relationship, trust me."

"It is?"

Jonathan turned his attention back to his son. He hadn't meant to say that, but it was out there now. He had always tried to be honest with Clark so now didn't seem like a time to stop.

"Well, yes,' Jonathan admitted. "The problem is too many fellows think that's all there is to it, Clark. I don't want you to be one of them. It's like anything else; a man has to accept the consequences of his actions. If sex is all you want from a girl, you're almost better off paying for it."

"Jonathan Kent!" Martha shouted from the house.

He realized he'd probably said too much. The look on Clark's face told him he had. Jonathan realized he should have prepared something instead of just winging it.

"Okay, let's just forget that last part,' he said to Clark. He rubbed his hands together, even more uncomfortable than he was before. Growing up in a small town conservative family there just were some things you didn't talk about.

"This was your mother's idea." Jonathan leaned in and said to Clark, hoping to ease the awkwardness. The backdoor opened and then slammed as Martha Kent came marching towards them. Jonathan quickly added, "Which I completely agreed with, Clark."

"Nice save, John," Martha said with a roll of her eyes. She turned to look at her son. Her first instincts were to have this conversation with him herself, but judging by his reaction at the clinic Martha didn't want to mortify her boy. She knew there were certain things a boy doesn't want to talk to his mom about, and this was probably at the top of the list. She knew the sort of private man Jonathan was, so this was obviously hard for him too. She felt like she was going to have to start the conversation for them.

"Clark we're just worried you're going to have sex before you're ready,' Martha said. "If you were to get one of these young girls pregnant, you'd be responsible for that. I'm sure you have urges, son, but there are other ways of taking care of them."

"MOM!' Clark gasped, mortified by all of this. He wanted to be anywhere but where he was at that moment.

"Martha,' Jonathan said, stepping in front of his wife and gently running his hands up her arms. "You're making him uncomfortable. Hell, you're making me uncomfortable. Let me handle this, okay?"

"You're the one that brought up paying for it, John,' Martha fired back.

"Okay, I admit that was a mistake, but please, just let me handle this,' he replied. "Okay? Please?"

Martha didn't like it, but the look on her son's face told her it was probably for the best.

"Oh, all right, but think before you speak, John.'

"I will, I promise."

Martha nodded and reluctantly headed back into the house. Jonathan waited until she was back inside before sitting back down next to Clark.

"I think we both dodged a bullet there,' he mused.

"Do we have to talk about his, Pa?"

"I think we do,' Jonathan admitted. "I want you to feel you can talk to your mother and me about anything, Clark, even if you're uncomfortable about it or we are. Well, mostly me, but you understand what I mean. don't you?"

"Yeah."

"You're going to want to date soon, Clark, if you haven't already thought about it,' Jonathan continued. "That's perfectly natural, so you shouldn't be embarrassed by it. I just want you to make sure you're doing it for the right reasons."

"What do you mean?" Clark asked.

"I mean you don't have to do something just because you can,' Jonathan explained. "If you ask a girl out, do it because you genuinely like her and want to get to know here better, not because she's the prettiest or most popular or has a reputation. Treat her with respect, but make sure she respects you too. Some fellows treat it like a game, trying to score as often as they can regardless of whom it might hurt, but they're missing out on what it's really about. Finding someone that's right for you, that fits and you're right for too, is so much better than just a string of meaningless encounters."

Jonathan looked at his son and realized what he was taking about was for later in Clark's life, not now. Now he needed to hear some practical advice to help start him on his way.

"Look, I wish I had all the answers, son, I don't,' Jonathan admitted. "I made more than my share of mistakes when I as your age and you will do. It's part of figuring it all out. It did work out for me though and I found the right one."

Jonathan glanced at the house and saw Martha in the doorway.

"I guess the best advice I can give you is to treat everyone as you'd want them to treat you. Show them respect and honesty. Don't force them to do anything they aren't ready to do and don't do anything you don't feel ready to do,' Jonathan offered. "You're going to make mistakes and get hurt, everyone does. You just have to try and learn from those mistakes. Like I said, I don't have all the answers. I grew up a farmer's son, Clark, in a very small town. I had people judge me because of that and I've heard all the names, hick, hayseed, you name it. Some people aren't going to wait to get to know you before they judge you. Try not to do that yourself and things should work out okay."

"You mean because we're poor?" Clark asked. "It already has, Pa."

Jonathan saw the pain flash across his son's young features and it made his own heart hurt that he'd been exposed to it already.

"I know these last few years have been hard on all of us, Clark, but they've also been a gift."

"How?"

"When I was your age I liked to believe that good people came in all shapes, colors and sizes, rich and poor,' Jonathan explained. "If we'd never left Smallville I'd still believe that, but since we've been traveling around I've come to _know_ it's a fact. Knowing is always better than believing, son. Us moving so much has allowed us to meet people from all over, different kinds of people, both good and bad. I like to think it's stripped away any prejudice we might have and now we see people for who they really are, without worrying about whether they're rich or poor, whatever shape, size or color they are. That's the gift of seeing the world clearly and you can't put a value on that."

"I guess,' Clark offered.

"Keep that in mind when you start to date, son, it should help,' Jonathan said. "Oh and one more thing."

"More?" Clark groaned. Jonathan smiled.

"This is the easy part,' he said. "When you're out there, don't be afraid to talk to the pretty ones and most of all try and have fun."

"How am I supposed to have fun if I got to remember all that other stuff,' Clark grumbled.

Jonathan laughed and put his arm around his son.

"You'll figure it out, people always do,' he said. "Now let's go in for dinner."

Before they reached the porch, Martha had come outside and was waiting for them. She liked what Jonathan had said, but she just wanted to add a couple of things of her own.

"What?" Jonathan said as she saw her.

"I just wanted to add something, that's all,' she said.

"More?" Clark groaned again.

"Yes, more,' Martha replied. "Clark, if you're going to be dating there are some simple things to always remember. Don't be a jerk and don't put up with jerks, male or female. Be willing to accept no as an answer and don't let anyone treat you like you don't want to be treated or treat them badly either. And like your father said, have fun, just not too much fun, you're only 13 after all."

"Yes, Mom, can we eat now, please?"

* * *

Metropolis - Now

**5Four70** resided in what used to be the meatpacking district of Metropolis. It was a study in angles and curves. The dance floor was on the lowest level and was referred to as the Pit. Plexiglas walls surrounded it curving inward as they rose, almost funneling the music back towards the dancers. The music ranged from hip-hop to techno. Surrounding the dance floor on two levels were tables, with two bars on each level. The walls were covered in some sort of aluminum foil replica wallpaper, reminiscent of Warhol's Factory. Large framed pictures of anonymous people's arms hung haphazardly at different eye levels. Flat screens lined the walls behind the bars randomly switching between stations. Because of the design it was possible to speak at a normal tone of voice, so at once you were inside the action, yet outside as well.

Kat Grant was in her second year as gossip and entertainment reporter at the Daily Planet. Like the three friends she was with, all reporters with the paper, she was young and ambitious. The others, Jennifer Chapman, who worked on the foreign desk, Lindsay Cole, who worked the business and economics beat and Lois Lane of the Metro desk were all 25 and had been at the paper since they graduated from college. Each had been tagged as someone to watch and if the rumors were true about Edge Communications buying the Planet then whole new horizons were just about to open up for all of them.

Many considered they cocky or arrogant, the word bitch had been used to describe each of them at one time or another, but then most aggressive, successful women tend to run into that. All except Kat came from money. Jennifer and Lindsay were from old school money families and had attended the best schools. The families had been a little surprised by their choice in careers, but they saw the writing on the wall. The entertainment and new industry was consolidating and expanding into new territories and having a background in print journalism brought with it a certain cache. Most thought of Lois Lane as an Army brat, but her father was a General. Generals make very good money and while she had traveled around a lot as a child, she always ended up in the best schools.

Cat Grant had worked her way through Metropolis University. She'd parlayed her interests into a career and in many ways her future might be the brightest. Understanding the relationship between gossip, celebrity, entertainment and news and how more and more of the media seemed to be heading that way, gave her an advantage over those in the straight media.

So when Cat proposed a girls night out at one of the hottest new clubs in town it seemed like a perfect opportunity to celebrate. They were young, attractive, something of local celebrities, financial independent and on the verge of bigger things, so it was understandable if they a little abrasive and dismissive of those they judged as beneath them. Even reporters come with preconceived notions about the world around them, especially young, successful ones.

"Kat how did you even find this place?" Lindsay asked.

" A reporter never reveals her sources, Lindsay, I thought they taught you that in that fancy school you went to,' Kat teased.

"A reporter, yes, but again, how did you find it?" Lindsay replied, the snark plain in her tone.

"Save it for the undesirables, ladies,' Jennifer interjected.

"The undesirables?" Lois asked.

"This place is filled with guys," Jennifer replied glancing around. "There are the ones you'd definitely talk to, those you might talk to, those that once you start talking to you realize you don't want to talk to, the ones you know immediately you don't want to talk to and those you would never talk to. The ones you'd never talk to you are the undesirables."

"Wow, and they call me cynical,' Lois said with a laugh.

"It's just the way clubs work, right Cat?' Jennifer countered.

"Well, yeah, sort of, I guess,' Kat replied.

"It's like those guys over there at the bar that probably think they're playas,' Jennifer explained. "They are undesirables, so it's best to shut them down hard the first time or they'll keep coming back.

"Plus they're probably poor,' Lindsay added. She glanced over at the guys at the bar again. "Those guys are definitely poor."

"The tall one's kind of cute," Kat offered.

"They think their playas, trust me,' Jennifer said, dismissively. "Don't waste your time with them."

"I think I saw some celebrities over there,' Lois said, a note of sarcasm in her voice.

"Where?"

* * *

The players, the poor guys the four were talking about at the bar included one Clark Kent, although his friends tonight knew him as Kal. He was having a beer, checking out the club and the other patrons when something caught his eye on the flat screen behind the bar. The sound was low so normally it couldn't be heard over the music, but that wasn't a problem for him.

It was a ceremony in Washington with the President and the newly formed group called the Justice League. He'd seen some of it on the news, how they had fought some collection of criminals with high tech weapons that were trying to New York. They had stopped the criminals' plans and saved the city. Everyone was hailing them as heroes, even the President it seemed. One by one the President introduced them to the cheers of the large crowd assembled. Collectively they were called The Justice League, Earth's heroes.

Earth's human heroes, Clark mused. People seemed so eager to embrace them. Even the one they called Wonder Woman, who was supposed to be some sort of Demi-Goddess that had seemingly stepped out of some mythology book. While there had been some resistance at first, the public and apparently the government had come around on their view of her. Being from Earth and human seemed to make all the difference he observed, not your actions. Batman was a vigilante, Green Lantern was a cop for an intergalactic police force, Aquaman was the ruler of some underwater kingdom, yet the fact that they were humans seemed to override everything else.

Clark knew deep down he could do anything they could do; he just wouldn't get the chance. They would never let him. He'd learned only too well what the people in charge thought of him at the cemetery five years ago. They probably hadn't even realized that the whole time Martha Kent was in custody, he'd been close enough to listen in on everything they said. He was a thing to them, something to lock in a cage and experiment on. If they couldn't use him, they'd kill him. Clark knew first hand from the cemetery they didn't care who they hurt along the way.

He'd lived pretty much all his life on Earth, but that didn't matter. He felt his anger rising, but then remembered his promise. He tried to push those thoughts away and tuned back into what his friends were talking about. Jhonny, probably the most confident of the bunch, was currently telling the others that he was going to ask the four hot young women sitting at the table to dance.

"Dude, they've been shooting down everybody,' Mario said. "I don't think they're interested. You're going to flame out, big time with them."

"I'm just going to ask them to dance,' Jhonny replied. "What do you think, Kal?"

Clark glanced over at the table and saw the women were laughing. The brunette had a sharp tongue and had just dismissed another guy that had approached them.

"I don't think they're interested, Jhonny,' he replied. "Maybe you should ask somebody else."

"Look you guys are just afraid to step up to the plate and take a chance,' Jhonny said. "I ain't trying to marry them, just dance with them. They say no, cool, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. Now watch a pro in action."

* * *

Cat, Lindsay, Jennifer and Lois were on their third Bikini martini, coconut rum, vodka, pineapple juice and grenadine. They were feeling good and laughing.

"I can't believe you called that guy, Captain Comb-over, Lois,' Cat said between giggles. "That was so harsh."

"He called me Toots,' Lois said in her defense. "I mean who talks like that? Toots, really?

"Heads up, ladies, here comes another one,' Jennifer said. "One of the playas at the bar decided to make their move. Wonderful."

They exchanged looks and took another drink as Jhonny walked over to their table,

"Hi, ladies,' Jhonny started, but was cut off by Lindsay.

"Look, Rico Suave, no offense, but not interested."

"Um, my name isn't Rico, it's Jhonny,' he replied. "With an H."

"With an H, like that matters," Jennifer scoffed. "We're still not interested."

"Look, I just wanted to see if you'd like to dance, that's all,' Jhonny said, as some of his confidence disappeared, but he soldiered on. "I've got some moves."

He did a quick dance step, but it didn't impress them.

"Take a hint, Jhonny with a H, go away,' Lindsay replied.

"Lindsay, come on,' Lois said.

"Okay, okay, no hard feelings, Jhonny with an H, we're just not interested in what you're selling, all right?"

"I wasn't selling anything, I just wanted to see if you'd like to dance. That's all."

"The answer is still no, but how about this, Jhonny with an H,' Jennifer said. "If you can tell me what continent Rhodesia's on, we'll buy you and your buddies a round. No hard feelings."

Jhonny didn't have an answer.

"How about who's in charge of the Federal reserve? Same deal,' Lindsay said.

Jhonny didn't have an answer for that either.

"Okay, I think you made your point,' Cat said, but the others weren't finished.

"How about something really simple. Can you name who made my purse? The brand?"

"No answer, how about who's on the hundred dollar bill? Even a playa like you should know that one."

Jhonny just stood there. He knew they were mocking him, but he didn't know the answers to any of their questions.

"Maybe you should just go, Jhonny," Lois offered, her voice softer than before.

Not sure what else to do, Jhonny turned and headed back towards his friends. In the time-honored tradition of all young men, his friends razzed him mercilessly for striking out. He smiled, but didn't say anything.

* * *

Lois looked at her friends.

"I kind of feel sorry for the guy." She admitted.

"You should, you all should,' a voice said. "That wasn't necessary."

They turned to see one of Jhonny's friends standing next to them. He was tall, 6'4' and well built. Thick black hair that was barely under control topped his head and the bluest eyes any of them had ever seen stared out of his tanned, handsome face. He was dressed in faded jeans, a very white tee shirt and old, worn leather jacket and work boots, polished to a shine.

"Who are you?" Lindsay asked.

"Why? So you can make fun of my name like you did Jhonny's?" He replied. "He was only trying to ask if you wanted to dance. A simple no would have been enough; you didn't have to humiliate him. I heard what you said earlier. You're right we are poor, but after watching and listen to you four I see that money doesn't buy manners or class."

"Hey, we told him no,' Jennifer offered. "Besides, who the hell are you?"

"To you, I'm nobody. Yes you said no, but then you had to humiliate him too, didn't you with your questions? Benjamin Franklin's on the hundred. Ben Bernanke is currently in charge of the Federal. Your bag is a HERMES Birkin 35, but it's a knock off. A good one, but a knock off, just like your friend's Jimmy Choo shoes. Oh, and Rhodesia isn't a country it was an unrecognized state from 1965 to 1979 when it officially became just a part of Zimbabwe. We're poor but you just assume we're stupid too. You're wrong, but you probably don't care about that any more than you did Jhonny's feelings,' he said. He then turned to the bartender. "A round for my guys on the 'ladies' tab."

The four of them didn't know what to say. It was Lois that finally looked over to the bartender and nodded yes, they would cover the round. They all watched as the young man walked back to his friends.

"He's the one I thought was cute,' Cat finally said.


	4. Chapter 4

swans and madeleines

Fort Meade

To all outward appearances he was a young bird watcher. A limb of a tree with the branches cut off served as a walking stick. Tan cargo pants, an old Eddie Bauer flannel shirt and hiking boots made up his wardrobe. Over his shoulder was a knapsack and if anyone felt the need to investigate what he was carrying, they would find a bird watching guide for the area that had been checked out of the library, a small notepad with rudimentary pencil sketches of local birds, a thermos of coffee, three meatloaf sandwiches, a fun size bag of chips and a paper bag from a local bakery containing some madeleines. He was exactly what most would imagine if they were to conjure up a bird watcher in their minds.

Only he wasn't.

He was actually an illegal alien wanted by most of the governments around the world, but especially by the Americans. He had an idea of what they wanted with him, but only a vague notion of who 'they' actually were. After being on the run since he was a child, he'd decided to change that. Fort Meade is the home of the NSA, you see, the largest intelligence gathering operation in the world. He'd found this out by visiting an Internet café and googling it. There were even pictures of the massive building, aerial shots too.

He'd done a little more research and even checked out the material Edward Snowden had released about the extent of their spying programs. Like most people Clark had heard about the Snowden story, but probably hadn't followed it as closely as he should have. Snowden, a hero or traitor, depending on your point of view had once worked for a subcontractor and felt the public had a right to know just what was going on. Apparently everyone was being monitored, every call within and to the United States was being monitored. Unheard of amounts of data, massive in its scope were being gathered from phones, computers and the Internet. The largest Telecom, Internet and Computer companies were providing the data. All this had been happening in secret, without warrants or probable cause, 2 things you usually need for wire taps according to US law.

Willie Sutton, a famous bank robber, was asked once why he robbed banks. His reported answer was because that's where the money is.

So if you want some information it seemed logical to go to where they are collecting unimaginable amounts of it on everything.

The building was heavily guarded, shielded and sensors would detect any attempted to bug it. Clark didn't need to do any of the sorts of things a usual spy would. He just needed to be close enough to listen. In a much smaller way he was trying to do exactly the same thing the people in the building were doing, listening to everyone's private conversations. Only he was listening to the spies who were listening to everyone else.

He made his way through the woods to a small lake, which was really a big pond, but the locals called it a lake so there seemed no reason to argue with them. Finding a nice shaded spot in the tall grass, he set his knapsack down and got comfortable. He poured himself a cup of coffee and just took in the surroundings. It was a little pocket of nature in the middle of this entire industrial sprawl.

As he took a sip of coffee Clark let his body relax. What he was attempted today was something new to him. All of his life he'd been struggling to shut the noise out so as not to be overwhelmed by it. Just as those at the NSA would hopefully learn, too much information made it impossible to find any meaning. It was like standing in a room with 10,00 people screaming at the same time and trying to pick out the one person screaming about how much they liked their Volkswagen Jetta. It all became white noise, meaningless static at some point.

Setting the coffee down, he took out the notepad and started to roughly sketch out a few of the birds he could see. They weren't meant to be professional, only to keep up the illusion in case someone was watching. It seemed like a wise assumption that here of all places, someone would always be watching and listening. As the pencil made the first line of one of the trumpeter swans' neck, Clark let some of his control ease. It had become second nature to block everything out, so it took a few moments of concentration to do the opposite.

Bit by bit he let his hearing expand and it was as if the world around him had come alive. Most imagine a nature scene as eerily quiet, yet this is hardly the truth. If you take the time to allow yourself to adjust you discover sound is all around you. It's just different sound then you've become accustomed to. They are quiet sounds at first, like the rustle of the leaves but once you being to recognize them, what you thought as empty is filled with sound.

Letting his reach extend the sounds of the modern world began to filter in. Cars on the parkway, lawn mowers from the neighboring suburbs, the whirl and grinding of small factories and most of all voices. Voices on top of voices bombarded his senses. Different pitches and rhythms, intensities and accents, each voice seemed desperate for attention as if they were afraid no one could hear them. Part of him wanted to listen to all of them, so that by some kind of magic each would know that someone was listening.

Magic like that doesn't exist no matter how hard you want to believe it does. As a wave of melancholy washed over him, Clark turned his focus towards the massive building a mile away. Machines, the constant hum of machines seemed to overwhelm all other sound coming from the building. It was the constant din of the modern workplace only magnified a thousand fold. As human voices began to filter in, they seemed almost secondary to the hum of the machines, as if they were only there in service of the machines and not the other way around.

As he listened trying to isolate the voices, he understood this was really a hit or miss proposition. He had no context for what he was hearing so the names were meaningless. Once he became accustomed to this extension of his senses he tried to listen for inflection in the way people spoke the names. Titles give a clue to the structure of things, but so do the way people say someone's name. It's the difference between how you say your boss's name and one of your coworkers, or how you say your professor's name versus one of your classmates. As if he were running a search engine he also tried to hone in on key words, Meta and alien being on the top of the list.

It was a different challenge than anything he'd tried before. If it took the whole day to work it out he was prepared for that. Picking up the notepad again, he continued the rough sketch of the swan while letting his mind sift through the voices. Even in the most secure work environments, people still like to talk. The swan sketches also served another purpose. Steganography is the art and science of encoding hidden messages in such a way that no one, apart from the sender and intended recipient, suspects the existence of the message. The names he picked up and wanted to check out he would work into the drawing. Since he was the sender and the intended recipient, only he would know their meaning. Even if something unfortunate happened and he was caught, they would never know what exactly he'd learned.

While he was Kryptonian, he had spent all his life on Earth. In many ways he's brain was wired to think like a human. Some of those were shared by both races and in fact were shared by all intelligent life forms. One of the most important ways this manifests itself is in the way we think of time and how it constantly plays a role in our lives. At once we can be in the present, the past and the future. So as Clark sat listening and sketching he could be in the present, taking down names to investigate later, yet also the swans could remind him of a trip he'd taken with his parents to the zoo when he was ten and even more a word or phrase might trigger the thought of something he had to do later.

Each of us live in all 3 of these time frames. Decisions we make in the present might be influenced by past experiences or by future plans. Our minds are constantly shuffling and mixing them. The madeleines Clark had brought might bring an involuntary memory back, of a winter day in Duluth with his parents from his childhood. The texture of the madeleine against his tongue might trigger other sensory memories of that day. How the kitchen smelled, his father's laugh, the feel of his mother's fingers running through his hair or the way the heat from the baseboard radiator caressed his ankles and moved up his pant leg. It's the way certain pieces of music can take you right back to specific times and places. You're still in the present, yet those memories seem just as real in the moment.

As Clark sat and gathered information, a lifetime time of memories flittered through his mind. Some bad times, but mostly good one filled those memories. In body Jonathan and Martha Kent might be gone, but in spirit they would always live on within their only son's memory.

There is an old Irish folk saying that as long as someone remembers you, you're never full dead. In a way it's as close as any of us will come to experience immortality.

* * *

(A/N – Each chapter in this story and all the previous stories are basically first drafts. This can sometimes lead to mistakes in grammar and spelling. Another result of this is that the balance between information, ideas, plot and dialog isn't always going to be perfect. Some readers might not like this. I certainly understand that. In a previous story I probably went a little overboard with describing what people were eating and the menus. ; )

The idea behind it though, I think is worthwhile. Instead of just saying 'he's poor' or 'they had a wonderful meal' the idea is to give a glimpse of what it means to be poor or what exactly was their wonderful meal. If I were writing about a wedding where everyone dressed up as Vikings, that's the sort of detail I think people need to get the full picture.

It was pointed out I'm posting this on a public forum, which is something I've always been aware of. I never expected everyone to agree with my views or like the characterizations or even the stories themselves. It's why I've always allowed anonymous reviews and rarely delete them. If you don't like the story, feeling free to not read it. If you don't like certain parts of the story, skip over them. If you have a complain or criticism, go ahead and post it. I'm cool with all of those.

If you're expecting something that fits perfectly with how you see the world or how you think the story should go, there I can't help you. It's never going to be perfect, but hopefully it's interesting and different.

So thanks for reading and if this isn't your cup of tea, no hard feelings if you take a pass.)


	5. Chapter 5

Pieces of 8 or 10

Metropolis - Now

Clark had spent a week since his reconnaissance trip trying to fit the parts together. He had jotted down 110 names in 5 hours of listening. Going off titles and the way people used the names he tried to prioritize them. He was still in Metropolis for two reasons. First just to make sure Marty didn't try and pull the same crap on anyone else that he had on Clark and his friends. Second, Metropolis was a major city and something of a hub for other major cities. He knew at some point he was going to try and put faces with the names. That meant Internet searches as well as access to the major newspaper archives that most large libraries had. There was also the added bonus that none of the 'heroes' called Metropolis home.

It didn't take too big a leap to think the sorts of searches he was doing would draw the attention of the very people he was trying to find. Being centrally located in Metropolis meant he could work his shift each day and then spend his nights doing the research in several nearby cities. A week visiting libraries and Internet cafes had put faces with the names. It had also eliminated quite a few of them. The one he eliminated were bureaucrats or political appointees, people with some power, but more used to following orders than giving them. Standing in the small flat he was renting by the week he looked at his work so far. On one wall were the names and faces of those that remained. There were the obvious names, heads of the NSA, CIA, FBI, Military Intelligence and the other information gathering agencies, but there were also names that seemed to keep coming up in everything he read.

Somewhere on the wall was the person or persons that had forced him and his family to run and hide all these years. One or more of them probably also had the ship he arrived in. Clark knew they would never be able to use it. Jonathan Kent might be a simple man, but he had a good practical idea of how things work. When they had found Clark, Jonathan had taken the crystals too. To his way of thinking the ship, even as advanced as it was, most likely ran on a similar principle as his old truck. Going on that theory, he took the crystals thinking they were the keys to the ship. In a way they were, for without them no one besides a Kryptonian would be able to get the ship to work.

Clark had the basic knowledge of his origins. He was the son of Jor-El and Lara and they had sent him to Earth to escape the end of their world. If he'd ever had even the fleeting thought of finding the ship and returning, Clark knew it was pointless. There was nothing left of that world and besides, he had spent his whole life here. Earth was his home now and for the foreseeable future. There were still huge parts of Earth he'd never seen and wanted to see. He'd been raised to not fear working and if remaining meant he had to stay in the shadows, he could live with that. Growing up as he did, he felt at home among those that had been forgotten or disregarded, those looked down on and dismissed, the powerless and voiceless. Those were the people that had helped him and his parents all those years and asked little in return.

What he wasn't prepared to live with anymore was not knowing who was after him. Just in his research this week he understood they protected themselves behind titles and bureaucracies. They were those faceless people in the huge buildings making decisions that affected so many lives including his. They thought all those layers protected them and made them anonymous. They thought it gave them license to hound a decent couple to their graves and never feel any repercussions. If they wanted to hunt him, he was going to make damn sure he knew whom 'they' were. He planned on keeping his promise to his mother and not let his anger overwhelm him but if those chasing him thought they could capture him and train him like some animal or thing, he would show them they didn't know him or what he could do at all.

* * *

The Watchtower

The converted satellite was still in the process of being transformed into a working space station for the newly formed Justice League. It was slow going as Green Lantern was the only member that could function in the nothingness of space without oxygen tanks or space suits. The group's coming together had been happenstance really. A threat larger than any one member had dealt with before had arisen and they found themselves working together to stop it. The world and the media had just assumed they were a team. The members let them assume it, but now it was time to figure out just what being a team meant.

A central monitoring area and basic habitat ring had been completed and Cyborg had taken up residence in it. The accident and device that had caused his transformation were still a mystery to everyone. It was alien technology, but so far no one had been able to figure out from where. The transformation had left Victor Stone feeling like he didn't belong anywhere. When he wasn't fighting along side the other members it felt as if people were looking at him like some sort of freak. The tower at least gave him a home, a place to work out what all had happened to him and try and figure out what the future held.

The other members agreed to remain a team, some more reluctantly then others. For the most part they were all young and relatively new to all of this. Batman and Aquaman were probably the oldest and had the most experience, but even that was as a lone vigilante and a young king of an underwater empire. Hal Jordan had been a test pilot when fate stepped in and made him a Lantern. He'd only been on the job less then a year. Barry Allen had a little more experience as the Flash, but that was really just locally in Central City. Then there was Wonder Woman and Shazam. She was new to the world and around the same age as Cyborg, while Shazam was a bit of a mystery to all of them except Cyborg. The fact that he was really just a kid hadn't been something he'd shared with the other members yet.

So now they found themselves gathered together to face threats none of them had any real experience dealing with on a global scale. The matter that confronted them today was that Barry had found another one of those boxes and there were reports of people being abducted by strange winged creatures coming in from all over the globe. Standing around the main console, Batman hit a switch and a holographic image appeared over the center of the table.

"This image was capture last night at the scene of the latest abductions in Gotham,' he explained. "From the other reports we have these things are responsible for the disappearances everywhere."

"It's not a harpie, although it does resemble one,' Wonder Woman offered.

"It's called a parademon,' Victor said.

"A para-what?" Hal asked.

"A parademon,' Victor repeated. "I've had some time to study this box and I've managed to communicate with it to a degree. The boxes are called Mother Boxes, by the way and they work as transportation portals as well as communication devices and a host of other things."

"Mother Boxes?"

"Yes, and there are more of them out there."

"Why?" Batman asked.

"I don't know all of it yet, but it appears they are being used to transport those Parademons to Earth. It creates something called a Boom Tube. More and more of them are arriving everyday,' Victor replied.

"So it's some sort of invasion,' Arthur offered.

"Yes."

"Where are they from?" Barry asked. "Who's behind this?"

"As I said I don't have all the information yet, but they serve something called Darkseid,' Victor explained. "Whatever Darkseid is, that's what's behind this."

"Well I guess I was wrong,' Hal admitted with a smirk. "There is a reason for us to be together."

"Are you touching Wonder Woman's lasso again?" Barry asked with a smile.

"Don't be a tool, Barry,' Hal replied and then added, "That's Batman's job, remember?"

Batman chose to ignore the comment, like he did most of what Hal said.

"We need more information,' he suggested. "Victor, you say there are more of those Mother Boxes?"

"Yes."

"If we locate them and bring them here, do you think you can tap into them and find out what the ultimate plan is?"

"I'm not sure, but I think I can."

"Then it's worth a try finding them,' Arthur said. "Plus wherever these boxes are, we'll probably find more of these Parademons. The more of them we can defeat the less we have to worry about civilians disappearing."

"Sounds like a plan!" Shazam said, speaking for the first time. "Should we huddle up and go on three?"

"We could use Hal's memorable battle cry of 'We Got This!" Barry sarcastically suggested.

"Okay, smartass, I told you that was just a heat of the battle kind of thing, let it go,' Hal replied.

"We should break up and search, it will help us cover more ground,' Arthur suggested.

A warning light went off on the console.

"What's that?" Wonder Woman asked.

Batman pressed a few buttons and then a grim expression came over this face.

"We won't need to break up, there's a major incursion happening right now,' he said. "Parademons are flooding through those Boom Tubes as we speak."

"Where?"

"Metropolis."

* * *

Apokolips – The Throne Room

Desaad bowed and scraped before the Dark Lord, as did Granny Goodness and her Furies. Darkseid sat silently listening to Desaad report on what was happening on Earth.

"Some resistance has sprung up, my lord,' Desaad said. "Earth has found a set of heroes that have banded together. They are currently engaging the first wave of Parademons we sent through. Do you wish to step up your timetable for the invasion?"

There was a long pause as everyone waited for Darkseid to speak. The sound of fire and wailing could be heard in the background.

"No." Darkseid finally said. "Send another wave of Parademons through to test these 'heroes.' Let us see what sort of defense the planet can put up before we proceed to the final plans. I have plenty of Parademons to spare."

"As you wish, my lord."

"Brilliant oh, just brilliant,' Granny Goodness chimed in. "You see my little lambs, the great Darkseid is truly the wisest, is he not?"

Everyone agreed and there was more bowing and scraping before the Dark Lord.

"Leave me,' he said. "Report when the skirmish is finished."

* * *

Metropolis – Now

Clark had found another job landscaping. Some of his friends were working with him and it was for a subcontractor who was doing work for the city. Basically they were cleaning up abandoned fields and yards in the Suicide Slums. Usually inmates did this sort of work, but the city found it cheaper to just hire out. Inmates meant guards making overtime and transportation, while farming it out meant a flat fee was paid. It saved the city some money and since the Suicide Slums weren't on anyone's priority list, the job was giving to the lowest bidder.

The day was almost over and it had begun to rain. Cheap black plastic ponchos with hoods were handed out to the workers so they could finish even in the rain. They were ill fitting, but they kept the rain off so everyone wore them. Clark had been marveling at one of the older workers all day. His name was Pete and he could be anywhere between 60 and 90. While everyone was using lawn mowers and weed wackers, Pete was old school. Everyone had laughed when he showed up with his own scythe, but once they saw him use it those laughs turned to admiration.

Clark had asked him about it during the short break they had for lunch. Pete's face lit up as he showed off his prized possession. He explained that he'd made it himself, the curved blade and long handle cast out of a solid piece of high grade, scrape steel alloy so it was nearly unbreakable. He had spent more hours than he could remember sharpening it so that now it went through the grass and weeds like a hot knife through butter. He had been using it for years and had it down so it seemed effortless when he swung it. Each area he used it on had the same uniformity as the areas cut with the gasoline-powered mowers. For Clark and the others it was like watching someone step out of the past and they couldn't help admiring the skill with which he wielded it.

The rain was coming down harder as Clark and a few others finished up the last of the work for the day. The rumbling in the distance sounded like thunder at first, but to Clark's keen ears he knew it was something else. He was just about to warn the others when the first creatures appeared out of nowhere. They began grabbing people off the street and those that resisted or tried to help the others they incinerated with fire that came streaming out of their hideous, razor toothed mouths. The crew and the people of the neighborhood began to flee in panic. In cars, bikes or on foot they frantically scrambled the other way as the creatures came roaring up the street.

Clark pushed against the tide, moving towards the creatures. Screams from the people and unnatural howls from the creatures filled his ears. He could also hear police sirens in the distance but they were moving away from the Suicide Slums towards more valuable parts of town. They were leaving this part of town and these people on their own. More and more of the creatures swarmed into the street, flying towards him. He batted the first one to reach him out of the sky and continued forward.

It was then he saw it, Pete's scythe lying next to a burning body. The old man must have tried to fight the creatures and paid the ultimate price. Anger welled up inside Clark, as the screams of the people seemed to multiple with each passing second. These people, the sort of people he'd grown up around all his life were on their own against these monsters and no one was going to help them. As he reached down for the scythe one of the creatures dove for him. He backhanded it, sending it flying into the building on his left. He realized he was all that stood between the creatures and the people desperately trying to escape.

Standing in the middle of the street, the rain pouring down, the cheap black poncho swirling around him in the breeze, the buildings seemed to funnel the creatures right towards him. The hood concealed most of his face, but the scowl in his lips was plain to see. He raised the scythe as the creatures dove towards him and it seemed to shimmer in the air.

His first strike cut the closest creature in half length-wise. His second strike did the same; only it cut the upper body from the lower body. His third just took off the creature's head. First the scythe and then Clark began to move faster then the ordinary eye could follow. He seemed everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The horrifying howls of the creatures turned into screams of pain as he waded through them, unstoppable in his ferocity. Their fire and talons seemed to have no effect on him, even when they managed to make however brief contact. Twin beams of red joined the scythe in wrecking havoc on all of them. The near mindless creatures blood filled the air with a sicken stench, as it mixed with the rain and painted the street. They continued to swarm; not even realizing the battle was already lost.

And then it was over, as the last creature fell under the scythe's blade.

A few brave civilians dared to look out from their buildings and stared in shock at the carnage. They saw a brief glimpse of a figure draped in black holding a bloodstained scythe and then he vanished.

"Death has saved us,' one of the civilians whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

Bound to Notice

Metropolis

All of his life Clark had been similar to a locomotive traveling through a densely populated city. The brakes were always on, holding back so as not to cause damage. Vigilant of its surroundings, people, places and things that could be smashed and destroyed if the hand on the throttle slipped. When he waded into the battle with the parademons, it was as if the train had finally cleared the city and an open plain spread out in front of it. The hand came off the brake and opened the throttle wide. Like one of those old steam engines the wheels began to move picking up speed with each cycle, yet in his case he became more like one of those ultra-modern mag-lev technology monorails reaching speeds impossible to previously imagine.

As he moved out from the Suicide Slums, taking the fight to the parademons the controls he had spent a lifetime mastering disappeared. For once he allowed himself to show exactly what he was capable of. All of his amazing abilities were on display for the first time in his life. Letting go also meant he was bombarded with sights and sounds that overwhelmed his senses and seemed to just fuel him on faster and faster until he was the unstoppable force with no immovable object in his way.

He was hyper-alive for the first time in his life, seemingly in touch with everything. The pounding of every heartbeat in the city was only a part of a cacophony of sounds, car horns, sirens, human screams, jet engines, explosions, an endless walla of noises beyond anything a mere mortal should experience. He was a part of everything yet overwhelmed at the same time. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion but became a blur as too much information poured in for him to handle. The scythe in his hands seemed to move on its own accord augmented by the beams of red from his eyes and the inescapable force of his fists. As he moved out from the poorest districts of the city clearing the monsters at every turn, he rose off the ground, meeting them in the air and only becoming more deadly.

* * *

Metropolis

The main force of the Parademons attacked from the sea, so that's where the Justice League transported. Arthur immediately communicated with his sea allies and from the depths they emerged to take down the stragglers. Thousands of Parademons had already made it to land though, so they knew they had a fight on their hands. Wonder Woman immediately lead the charge, while Batman tried to coordinate the others into a line of attack. They were all familiar and comfortable fighting solo, so getting them to work as a team wasn't natural or easy. They were heroes used to sacrifice, but each was by nature used to thinking they had to be the one to stop this invasion.

Batman was a natural leader, but then again so was Aquaman. While Green Lantern and Wonder Woman were used to being part of a larger group, the Lanterns and the Amazons respectively, they were both new to this. Lantern had been working closer to Earth since he got the ring, so he hadn't really been a part of the main body of the Lanterns. Wonder Woman, while used to military concepts of battle, chafed at the idea of men barking orders at her. Cyborg was young and still getting used to his altered computerized being, so he tended to analysis the situation just a little too much. Shazam was a kid in a powerful man's body, but he was still a kid and reacted like one. The Flash, perhaps because he processed information faster than most or that in his other life he was used to working as part of a team, seemed to adapt the quickest.

Batman recognized the situation wasn't going to work as it was, so he changed tactics.

"Arthur!" He shouted. "Take Wonder Woman and Shazam with you and attack at the core of the Parademons! You're a King so perhaps it will be easier for her to accept direction from you rather than me barking orders to her."

"And what will you do?' Arthur asked.

"Cyborg and I will work the edges, while Lantern and Flash take on the main group that get passed you,' Batman explained. "We need to start working as a team if we're going to end this."

"Agreed." Arthur said.

"I agree also,' Wonder Woman chimed in as she floated above them. "I have very good hearing, Batman. I would suggest Aquaman, Shazam and I spread out and much like his trident hit them in a three pronged attack."

"Sound military strategy,' Arthur said with a smile.

"I know." Diana replied.

"How about a little less chatter and a little more fighting? Huh, guys?' Hal said as he flew by. "And gal or woman, I'm speaking of you, Diana, in case you didn't get that. Um, ah, well, you know what I mean."

"Smooth, flyboy,' Barry said with a laugh as he zipped by.

"Shut up, Barry."

"Let's kick some demon ass!" Shazam shouted.

A tentative plan in place they went into action. It still wasn't a well-oiled unit, but they fought more as a team and the results showed now that they were on the same page. Diana again to the main lead position, but this time she was flanked by Arthur and Billy. Hal and Barry were ready for those that swarmed passed them. Lantern's constructs and Barry's speed worked well together to keep the Parademons away from the heart of the city. Batman and Cyborg concentrated on those already in the city terrorizing and destroying everything and everyone in their path. The tide of the battle turned and the Justice League soon had the upper hand.

Batman had the best vantage point to see the entire battle, so he took the lead and relayed the strategy for finishing the battle to the others. Arthur, Diana and Billy had Parademons all around them, swarming them, trying to bring them down. As powerful as Billy was in his Shazam alter ego, he wasn't used to fighting on this large a scale. As the Parademons swarmed him, grabbing and clutching as his limbs and face he panicked a bit. The rain had intensified and lightening as already flashing across the city.

It was during one of those burst that he saw him floating above the tall buildings in the center of the city. The lightening flash was brief but in that moment Billy thought he saw Death, dressed in black and carrying a scythe. Red beams of fire seemed to shoot from his eyes. Billy's eyes went wide with fright and he unleashed a massive amount of energy lighting up the sky all around him.

Hal had been creating one construct after another, taking out scores of Parademons. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the figure too. Unlike Billy his first thought wasn't Death, but that perhaps this was the Parademons leader. As Billy lit up the sky, the figure vanished but Hal broke off from the ones he was fighting and raced after him.

"Lantern, get back here!" Batman shouted, but he was already too far away.

* * *

Metropolis – Downtown

Clark had left a trail of Parademons in his wake all the way from the Suicide Slums to downtown. As he floated up over the city, still bombarded by sights and sounds, one image came through stronger than the others. The heroes were here. He saw the newly formed Justice League fighting the demons on the edge of the city and even as overwhelmed as he was, he realized their being here meant the military and the media would soon follow. The last thing he needed was that kind of attention. He still felt like he was bursting with power and energy, but his fight was over. He'd only meant to stand between the demons and those left unprotected, but now the heroes were on the scene so it was time to vanish again.

It hadn't been a conscious choice, but now as his mind processed what was happening, Clark pulled the cheap poncho hood down further over his face. He understood only too well everything was photographed or videotaped nowadays. Part of what had helped him stay out of the clutches of those after him was they didn't know what he looked like. He needed to vanish before someone got a good look at him.

"Hold it right there, Grim Reaper or whoever you're supposed to be,' Hal shouted. His ring created a train and it barreled into Clark's back, driving him hard into a building. He dropped the scythe and went down to his knees.

"We're kicking your Parademons ass, so why don't you give up?' Hal said with a satisfied smirk, as he floated down towards the hooded figure.

"Don't be shy, let's get a look at your ugly mug."

* * *

Metropolis – The Waterfront

Batman and the others were pressing the attack forward when behind them they all saw a green meteor streaking out from the center of the city. It was only as it got closer that they realized it was Hal. Diana broke off the attack and caught him before he slammed into the pavement.

"He's definitely not one of them,' Hal groaned before he passed out. The others looked to where he'd come from, but the battle with the Parademons wasn't over yet.

"Keep attacking, we need to finish this,' Batman shouted.

The others resumed the fight. Minute after minute passed but finally Victor figured out how to send the Parademons back to where they came from. He had found one of the Mother Boxes on a fallen Parademon and interfaced with it. The command to open the Boom Tube was still fresh in its memory and he activated it. Boom Tubes opened all over the city and the Parademons were being pulled back to where they came from. The heroes gather to watch them disappear. It was Barry that noticed the large amount of Parademons from other parts of the city being transported back.

"Looks like we weren't the only ones fighting them,' he said, as he pointed to the ones disappearing from other parts of the city.

"They're all dead,' Diana said. "I can see them and they are the fallen."

"How can you tell?" Hal asked, still woozy from before.

"I also have excellent eyesight, too."

"Not the first thing I noticed, I'll admit,' Hal replied. "Maybe the guy that hit me took them out?"

The others looked at him, but it was Billy that spoke up.

"It was Death,' he whispered. "I saw him."

* * *

Metropolis - The Suicide Slums

Clark had managed to get back to his rented room without anyone seeing him. He'd tossed the poncho on the way and hid the scythe, but now that he was alone he was struggling to reign it all back in. On his hands and knees, afraid to touch anything in case he destroyed it, he used all his will power to try and get control back. He had never let his control completely go before and now that he had, pulling back was proving more difficult than he'd imagined.

Bit by bit he shut out the sounds and sights still bombarding him from all around. Taking deep breaths, he tried to slow the Kryptonian equivalent of adrenaline rushing through his system. In his mind he tried to imagine a train pulling into the station. Hand off the throttle, the brakes to their maximum to bring the powerful locomotive to a torturous stop. Slowly the world around him began to collapse in on him until he could only hear the rooms around him. Exhausted, he collapsed into unconsciousness on the floor.

* * *

The Source Wall

Darkseid stood on an asteroid gazing at the faces of long dead and forgotten beings. Gods and champions, conquerors and fools, they all shared the same fate. His own father numbered among them. For a time, Darkseid, himself had been trapped in that endless nothingness.

To all outward appearances, he was the usual calm, cold God of Apokolips, but inside Darkseid felt uneasiness. He drifted closer, remaining far enough away so the gravitational pull wouldn't trap him. News of the Parademons failure had arrived along with those defeated and an unusual amount of corpses. He carried nothing about those fallen, but the defeat wasn't to be tolerated. He punished those he had put in charge. One detail about the defeat had stood out in the reports his minions had received from Earth. While the bulk of the coverage was about the Justice League and their triumph, there were also some reports of eyewitnesses saying that Death had a hand in the battle. Still images and grainy video showed a figured battling his Parademons, killing them in droves with a scythe.

Darkseid had dismissed those claims, doubting the witnesses or the stories. Privately he was given pause though. While each world had it's own separate Gods throughout the galaxy, every culture and civilization had one thing in common, a personification of Death. Anything that has a beginning has and end. While Darkseid's primary reason for his interesting Earth was he was looking for someone, his larger goal had not changed. He sought the Anti-Life Equation. Once he had that all change would stop. If changed stop, there was also a possibility that death would stop or be greatly diminished. Looking at the Source Wall and those fallen that now were a part of it, Darkseid understood he was attempting something none of them, no matter how great had tried before him.

He was trying to stop the universe as it was, with him as absolute ruler of everything. That was bound to draw the attention of forces beyond the comprehension of mere mortals. Could this defeat on Earth be a warning, he wondered? Had Death taken the humans personification of it and allowed these images to be captured so send him a warning?

Darkseid dismissed this thought, but as he stared out at all those fallen Gods and warriors he couldn't shake the feeling something or someone unknown, was at work here. Whatever that was that had killed his Parademons might prove to be a larger threat than any of Earth's other defenses or heroes. As always Darkseid's expression didn't change or reveal his thoughts. He would continue on with his plans, but now he would pay more attention to what happened on that little blue world called Earth.

* * *

Brownsville, Texas – Two Weeks Later

Clark had left Metropolis putting some distance between him and what was now the media capital of the moment. The aftermath of the battle had drawn reporters and networks from all over the globe. The military had moved in on mass to help with the clean up. All eyes seemed to be on Metropolis so it was the last place he wanted to be. He had made one quick trip back to stop at Pete's grave. He'd placed Pete's prized scythe there to honor the man that had carried it all those years. It had been a sentimental gesture cause Clark didn't know what else to do.

Now sitting in an outdoor café having lunch he realized his gesture had unintended consequences. He hadn't paid that much attention to the media coverage while he was trying to escape it. He hadn't heard the stories coming out of the Metropolis about Death having rescued those in the Suicide Slums and the other poorer districts of the city. It had been raining, so he had a poncho on. Pete's death had spurred him into action and his scythe was right there. Clark hadn't really thought about how he looked, but now he saw images of himself from that night. While the majority of the coverage was of the Justice League, small, hand-held videos from people caught on their cell phones of him fighting had gone viral on You Tube and other outlets.

If that wasn't bad enough, his leaving Pete's scythe at his grave had taken on a life of its own. It's seemed an urban legend had already sprung up in those communities that it had been Pete, who after being killed by the Parademons had returned to seek his vengeance. He was something of a local hero, their protector from beyond the grave. People had already started to put flowers on the spot he died and light candles for him in thanks. In their minds, Pete had become Death to save his people when no one else had.

Clark sat in the café stunned by all of these developments. It all had obvious religious overtones and his first thought was to set the record straight, but then he realized that would be impossible. Nothing had changed about his situation; he was still wanted so going public was a non-starter.

While he was uncomfortable with all of it, there was also the real possibility that Pete's family found some comfort in believing the story, even if it wasn't true. To come out now and say that Pete's death had been like all the rest, basically meaningless, seemed too cruel to Clark's mind. He had lost his parents, so he knew the agony that came along with losing someone. If believing something that wasn't true helped ease that pain, who was he to deny them some small comfort?

He was only 22 but in his time moving around with his parents Clark had come into contact with many people that believed in things imaginary or not based on fact. He remembered talking to Jonathan Kent about it. He'd told a young Clark that some times people need to cling to things that aren't real so the world made sense to them. As long as they weren't trying to force those beliefs on anyone or everyone else there was no reason to stop them. It was the people that were dead sure what they believed was the only truth and wanted to make everyone else believe the same thing that you had to worry about. Jonathan explained if someone believed they alone had some special truth then they could justify pretty much anything in making others see it their way. That's where the danger was.

It's like the guy in Miracle on 34th street. If he wants to believe he's Santa Clause and he isn't hurting anybody else or forcing them to believe he's Santa Clause, where's the harm in it? If his little delusion makes the world a better place for him and those around him, leave him be. Clark thought about all of this as he watched the reports from Metropolis. What happened, happened and he couldn't change it now.

He had other matters he needed to take care of. His list of people in the government was narrower since he left Metropolis. He planned to check each of them out so he would know exactly who was after him.

* * *

Washington

The high level meeting on what happened in Metropolis had ended. Most of the participants had left, only John Lynch, Amanda Waller and Steve Trevor remained. The discussions had been about creating a team of their own, not just to counter the Justice League but to handle situations like the one in Metropolis. It had been something of a pissing match as to which branch would control it. The military wanted it under their purview, while the intelligence agencies said they already had experience with Meta teams so they should be in charge. Amanda Waller had argued for A.R.G.U.S. to take the lead. Nothing was decided on, but each group secretly believed the other was already working on something like what was being discussed.

Something had been nagging Lynch and Waller about the whole situation in Metropolis. The urban story growing up around the figure with the scythe had caught both their attentions. Neither believed it was Death or some landscaper come back from the grave to protect his people, but someone or something had been there and done those things. Who it was bothered them, as they didn't know for sure. In their business, not knowing was always dangerous.

For Lynch it wasn't the scythe, as that was a weapon like any other, it was the beams of fire reportedly shooting from the figure's eyes. Seven years ago it had been his team at the cemetery in Smallville that had killed Martha Kent and then been wiped out by the alien boy. Beams of fire shooting from his eyes, that phrase seemed to keep repeating over and over in his mind.

"You think it's him, don't you?" Amanda finally asked.

"Who?" Lynch replied.

"You know."

Lynch looked at her for a moment.

"The thought had crossed my mind,' he admitted.

"The boy,' Steve said.

He had been watching them both all during the meeting and saw them both react at the description of the unknown figure. He had read the reports too.

"You think it was the boy that did this?' Steve asked.

"He's hardly a boy now,' Lynch replied.

"It makes no sense," Amanda offered. "He's been hiding all this time, why now? Why risk it in front of all those people?'

"That's what I've been wondering too,' Lynch said.

A rather dry chuckle filled the room and they turned to see Steve had a smile on his face.

"You find this amusing, Trevor?" Lynch asked.

"Yes."

"Care to explain?" Amanda asked.

Steve shook his head dejected as he looked at both of them.

"I find it sadly amusing that you two can't figure out why, if it was him, he did it,' Steve replied. "He did it to save them."

He got up and started for the door. He stopped just before he left and looked back at Lynch and Waller.

"That you two didn't think of that makes me wonder who are the real monsters people need protected from?"

He left without another word.


	7. Chapter 7

Hunting

Washington D.C.

A wise man once said, 'follow the money."

That's exactly what Clark set out to do.

Trying to get a handle on just who did what in the US government was a daunting task even for the insiders, never mind a 22-year-old using library and Internet café computers. Committees and agencies, sub-agencies, departments, you quickly get lost in the dizzying maze of titles and responsibilities. The bureaucracy is just too vast to comprehend. Anyone that says government doesn't create jobs clearly hasn't looked at the numbers. Directly or indirectly, the US government is probably one of the largest employers in the world.

Follow the money.

Washington DC has approximately 12,300 registered lobbyists in the year 2013. Those lobbyists spent over 3 Billion dollars in just that one-year alone. This information he found on the Internet. Finding out who spent the money and who got it was a bit more difficult, if not impossible.

So he changed tactics and did a Google search for the largest US government contractors. That was public information. Number 7 on the list was a company called L-3 Communications Holdings. Current numbers weren't available, but they had 7.5 Billion dollars in government contracts in 2009, so they were obviously players. A search of the company provided the information that they supplied command and control, communications, intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance systems and products. Their customers included the Department of Defense, Department of Homeland Security, U.S. Government intelligence agencies, and the NASA. They also worked with commercial telecommunications and wireless customers.

They seemed like a good place to start. They had their own squad of lobbyists and tonight they were throwing a gala for the really important people in all the agencies they dealt with. Clark had his list of names and figured he'd see who on it showed up. He wanted to see these people in person to watch and listen how those around them treated them. Titles only tell you so much, but at any function it's always easier to figure out who's got the power and who doesn't by seeing them for yourself.

Security of course, was tight. That didn't matter to him. He wasn't planning on crashing the party anyway. Over a block away was a small bar with a patio. He figured he would sit and drink PBRs and watch both outside and inside. He was dressed like a tourist, cowboy hat, flannel shirt, jeans and boots. A plastic bag from the Smithsonian gift shop sat on the table in front of him. The night progressed and the young waitress, Carol seemed to take a liking to him. He paid in cash and made sure to tip, understanding that's where most of her income came from. He also politely flirted just a bit with her. The tables around him filled up with couples and groups of friends, that paid no attention to the lone young man quietly drinking in their midst.

The guests to the gala began to arrive. There was of course a red carpet and press, but this was an inside the beltway sort of thing, so those photos and video wouldn't make it out to the rest of the country. The taxpayers wouldn't know which of their representatives were partying it up on L-3 Communications Holdings dime. He hung around for another few hours listening to all the conversations inside the party. He made notes on projects people discussed and checked off a few more names as non-starters. It was around closing time when Carol came over to him and said her shift was over. Clark paid the bill and gave her a tip. She asked if he'd like to have a drink with her. He accepted and let her pick the spot. As they walked towards her car and Clark took one last look back at the gala. His list had narrowed considerably, but he needed more information. When he was sure, he planned on visiting someone on his list.

* * *

Washington DC

Inside the same gala that Clark had been watching, Diana and Steve mingled with the guests. While she was new to the world, she certainly understood the dynamics of this party. The people throwing it wanted something. The people attending could make that happen through their positions. Influence was being peddled and bought by the various sides. They were all too polite to say this openly, but everyone understood the game.

Frankly she wasn't interested in any of it and had only come because Steve had asked. He had helped her transition into the modern world immensely so attending with him was another way for her to say thank you for all that he'd done for her. She knew she was something of a celebrity. She'd picked up just how important celebrity was in the modern world rather fast. She'd shaken so many hands and posed for so many pictures she'd lost count. She knew most of those photos would end up on walls in people's offices as if to show everyone they rubbed shoulders with the famous. It was such a strange phenomena she thought, as if by some osmosis the people taking pictures with her believed in doing so they became famous too. Since fame wasn't really something she was after it seemed rather pointless to her.

It was getting late and they would probably be leaving soon, when Diana spied one of her Justice League teammates arriving at the party. Bruce Wayne was fashionably late. Diana had only recently learned his secret identity so she watched with amusement as he played the part of the playboy. She didn't approach him, but did keep track of his movements.

Most of the questions and conversations directed at Diana involved the newly formed Justice League and the battle in Metropolis. She politely answered everyone's questions. When the topic of the figure appearing as Death came up, Diana offered no opinion about whether she believed it was the old landscaper come back to life to defend the poor from the invasion. Most asked it jokingly, but it had a bit of an Internet meme quality to it. Even weeks later, people were still placing flowers on the site where Pete the landscaper died, as well as lighting candles for him in all the Catholic churches.

Being from a completely different culture this all made sense to Diana. Her sisters offered sacrifices to their gods and venerated certain locations mentioned in the old stories. Whether it had been Pete the landscaper or someone else didn't seem to matter, it was what people want to believe. Bits of dirt all over the world hold special meaning for countless people, so why should this be any different? Whether the actual events happened on those bits of dirt had long stopped mattering to those that believed in them.

Steve had gone to the bar to get them another glass of champagne when Diana turned to find Bruce Wayne standing next to her.

"Princess,' he said with a smile.

"Mr. Wayne, isn't it?" She replied, keeping up the façade.

"Yes."

"Are you enjoying the party, Mr. Wayne?"

"Not especially, but it serves it's purpose,' he stated.

"I suppose it does,' she said in agreement.

"You're boyfriend will be back in just a moment, but I wanted to ask you something,' Bruce whispered.

"He's not my boyfriend, Mr. Wayne."

"I don't think he knows that,' Bruce replied with a smile. "That's not important right now. I wanted to talk to you about Billy."

'Shazam?"

"Yes, this whole Death thing is still freaking him out,' Bruce explained. "As you might have guessed he's actually much younger than he appears as Shazam and it seems he believes it was Death he saw that night."

"Perhaps it was,' Diana offered.

"It wasn't." Bruce immediately stated. "It was probably a Meta pitching in like the rest of us, but without any other information Billy's going to keep thinking it was Death and that's bad for all of us."

"You seem awfully sure it wasn't Death,' Diana said. "May I ask how you came to this conclusion?"

"Besides the obvious, Death personified is something out of fairy tales,' Bruce replied. "There is the fact that the figure was wearing a cheap rain poncho sold in every dollar store around the country. He was also wearing jeans and work boots; hardly the sort of thing Death would wear. Don't you think?"

"I supposed,' Diana admitted.

"Plus there's also the problem that if it really was Death, Hal would be dead right now,' Bruce pointed out. "No, it wasn't a mythical character out there it was a person. Unfortunately I've had no luck finding out whom."

"What do you want me to do?" Diana asked.

"See if your boyfriend, who's not your boyfriend, can help with any information,' Bruce said. "He is technically the Justice League's liaison so any information would help Billy get passed this."

"I'll do what I can,' Diana replied. "I understand how someone Billy's age can be traumatized by something like this and of course I want to help him."

"Good, that's all I ask,' Bruce said. "And now if you'll excuse me, the before mentioned man is making his way back over here."

Bruce reached out and took Diana's hand, as Steve got closer.

"Pleasure to meet you Princess,' Bruce said gallantly and then kissed her hand. "A pleasure."

He moved off before Steve arrived. He handed Diana a glass of champagne.

"Watch out for that one, Diana, he's got quite the reputation," Steve said.

"I'll be sure to keep an eye out for him."

* * *

Washington DC

In another part of town far removed from the movers and shakers, Clark and Carol sat having a sandwich and one of the local microbrewery's latest selections. His plans were on track, but that didn't mean he couldn't take one night and just enjoy himself. They talked and got to know each other. Carol was waitressing to pay for her community college hoping one day to become an LPN. Clark didn't exactly lie, but said he wasn't sure what he was going to do with his life at this point. That was mostly true, he just didn't share the reasons why.

They were both young and talked of places and things they wanted to see and do, but probably never would. It was a night away from the reality of everyday living, where dreams still seemed at the edge of their fingertips. They laughed and flirted with each other. The small, locally owned bar was intimate and the lights were low. For a while they seemed like the only two people in the world. She knew he wasn't going to stay around; he'd been honest about it. She gave him her number in case he came back to town. He walked her home and she kissed him goodnight on her doorstep. They parted, the night a pleasant memory they would both have.

* * *

Washington DC

On the limo ride home, Steve and Diana discussed the party. He viewed them as a necessary evil of his job. He commented that she had made quite the impression on everyone and then added that she usually did.

"Steve, may I ask you something as the Justice League's liaison?"

"Anything, angel."

"You've seen the video from Metropolis of the figure with the scythe?" She asked.

"You mean Death or Pete the gardener?" He joked.

"Yes."

"What about it?"

"Do you have any information about who that was?" Diana asked and then explained. "Shazam, Billy, it had been troubling him since that night. If I could find an alternative explanation it would ease his mind greatly."

The smile slipped from Steve's lips as he listened.

"I'm sorry, Diana, I can't help you,' he said.

Something in his voice drew Diana's attention.

'Can't or won't?" She asked.

"Can't,' he replied. "Some things are classified; Diana and I took an oath to keep those secrets. I understand what you're asking and I'd like to help Billy, but my oath precludes that. I'm sorry, but I hope you understand."

"I do,' she said. "Can you at least tell me whether it was Death or not? I know that sounds like a silly question, but Billy believes it was."

"It most definitely wasn't Death,' Steve stated. "It was something else, but I can't tell you who.'

"I understand,' Diana replied, but she hadn't missed is use of the pronoun who.

* * *

New York

L-3 Communications Holdings headquarters were on Third Avenue in New York City. Clark had gotten a job as a janitor in the building. Mostly it was nights spent emptying wastebaskets and cleaning restrooms. In his green overalls and baseball cap no one paid attention as he pushed his cart through the empty halls. To the few people still working that saw him he was just a nobody, not worth a second look.

The reason he was working here was because the company was a contractor with the government and that meant their computers were tied into the government's database. As Edward Snowden had shown, as tight as security was, there was always a way to get in. You just needed a computer that had access and the right passwords.

A short stop over in Ohio at Wright Patterson Air Force Base and Clark had a password, General Eiling's password. He'd chosen the General because watching him at the gala Eiling was pretty much a prick to everyone he deemed below him. Something Jonathan and Martha had taught Clark was you could always tell the character of someone by how they treat people when they have nothing to gain from them. If they treat wait staff, clerks and people in the service industry like shit, there was a really good chance they're an asshole. So using Eiling's password seemed like poetic justice for all the people he'd treated like they didn't matter over the years.

It was also the reason he'd chosen L-3 Communications Holdings. While reading up on the various companies he found a note about L-3. A US Department of Defense investigation had reportedly found that the company had, "used a highly sensitive government computer network to collect competitive business information for its own use." They had been suspended from doing any business with the government. That was later ended in 2010.

Again, poetic justice, if they were using the government computer networks for their own gain, it seemed appropriate he do the same. He worked his shift for almost a month, getting the schedules and lay of the land in the building. Finishing his cleaning duties quickly, Clark slipped passed the security measures on one of the executive offices and logged on. One of his abilities was being able to process huge amounts of information and retaining all of it. For over an hour while logged on as General Eiling, Clark finally got all the answers he'd been searching for. Eiling's clearance gave him access to everything, every dirty secret, every shadow government program and everyone involved. He even learned whom the men that had killed his mother reported to.

When he had all the information he needed, Clark logged off, completed his shift, collected his paycheck and disappeared. If the security breach was ever uncovered and they went looking for him, they would just have the name Howard Hunt and the trail would end there.

* * *

Langley, Virginia

John Lynch was the head of something called International Operations. It was basically a black ops organization for dealing with threats around the world. How he chose to deal with those threats was left up to him. Plausible deniability was the name of the game and Lynch preferred it that way. His black BMW slowly drove down a quite street in the suburbs and pulled into his driveway. The modest split-level house belied who lived there. Lynch got out of his car and punched the security code into the panel tastefully hidden by the front door. The door opened and the entranceway light went on. He closed the door and reset the alarm. Loosening his tie and taking off his jacket, Lynch poured himself a drink and headed towards his den/office.

"Come in, Mr. Lynch."

Lynch saw the figure standing in the shadows by the patio doors. He immediately pulled his weapon and fired, unloading the clip. The figure didn't move as the noise was absorbed by the sound dampening walls that lined the house. The figure took a step forward and turned on the small desk lamp. Lynch got his first really good look at the figure. He was tall, lean, and yet muscular. He was dressed in all black and wore a mask.

"Who are you?' Lynch demanded.

The figure slowly opened his hand and dropped the bullets Lynch had just fired on his desk.

"Just like your agents, Mr. Lynch,' the figure said. "Shoot first. Only this time it's not my unarmed mother in a graveyard, is it?"

"You!" Lynch gasped. He began to backpedal, but the figure moved faster than he could follow and in the next moment was holding him by his tie.

"Don't try and run. It won't work, trust me."

"How did you get in here? What do you want?" Lynch demanded.

"You mean how did I get passed your security system? I read a book on it,' the figure replied. "As for what I want, I think you know Mr. Lynch."

"So you're here to kill me is that it?" Lynch said with a laugh. "I'm afraid you've underestimated me, boy!"

It was a closely guarded secret that John Lynch had been exposure to the Gen Factor which had also endowed him with Meta abilities. He considered these powers a closely guarded secret and rarely used them, as each use caused him to weaken considerably. His Gen-Factor was primarily strong telekinetic powers. The downside to these powers was that they were nearly impossible to control. Right now he didn't really care and lashed out sending the masked figure hurling across the room and through the glass patio doors.

This caught Clark off guard, as it hadn't been in anything he'd read. He righted himself and slid to a stop, leaving two long tracks of ripped up earth between him and the house. Lynch pressed his momentary advantage and began hurling furniture and glass, anything he could at him. Clark caught the couch as it flew towards him and in the next moment used it as a battering ram to drive Lynch back into the house and against the far wall. Lynch screamed as this broke several of his ribs. Before he could attack again, Clark had him by the throat.

"Try and move even the smallest thing in this room and I'll snap your neck before you can finish the thought,' Clark whispered. "Are we clear?"

Lynch could feel his hand around his neck and it was like steel. Slowly he nodded that he understood. Clark released him and stepped back.

"So what now?" Lynch asked. "You're going to kill me?"

"I'm tempted, very tempted,' Clark replied. "No, to answer your question, I'm not going to kill you unless you make it necessary."

"Then what do you want?"

"To be left alone,' Clark stated.

Lynch laughed at his as he rubbed his neck.

"You can't be serious?"

"Oh, I am, Mr. Lynch and you're going to make it happen,' Clark replied.

"Why in the hell would I do that?"

"Cause you owe me a life, two lives really, my parents,' Clark said.

"I didn't kill them, you did when you arrived near their farm,' Lynch fired back.

"You and your friends pointed a gun at all our heads,' Clark replied. 'You hounded them until they couldn't run anymore and then you killed them, Mr. Lynch. Why? You and your friends did it because they took in a newborn and tried to raise him as their own. That was their great crime, they tried to raise him to be a good, honest, decent person. Don't try and blame me for what you and your friends have done, it won't work, Mr. Lynch."

"I was protecting my country, my world!" Lynch shouted.

"Lies,' Clark rasped. "That's your business, isn't it? Lies. Have you been telling them so long you've started to believe them too?"

"You're a threat, an alien threat to this world and I was protecting it from those like you!" Lynch shouted.

"Protect this world from me?" Clark replied. "What have I done ever to threaten this world? This is my home, Mr. Lynch, the only one I've ever known."

"You killed my agents or have you forgotten that?" Lynch snapped. "You got your mother shot, or did that slip your mind too?"

In the next moment Clark's hand was around Lynch's throat again. He slammed him into the wall and held him there, three feet off the floor.

"Mention my mother or father again and this is over,' Clark growled. "I'll put my fist through your chest and pull out your heart to show it to you before you die. Are we clear?"

"Yes." Lynch gasped.

Clark tossed him to the floor and stepped back. Lynch clutched at his bruised throat and looked up at Clark.

"Now you're going to stop chasing me, Mr. Lynch and do you best to stop the others from chasing me,' Clark calmly explained.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I came here tonight to let you know I can find you,' Clark explained. "Anywhere, anytime, I can find you again if you don't."

"Killing me won't solve your problems, boy,' Lynch spat out. "There are others that will just hunt your harder."

"Yes, I know,' Clark replied. "Amanda Waller and Steve Trevor at A.R.G.U.S., General Lane and Eiling at the Pentagon and a few others. You see, Mr. Lynch I know who all of you are now. I know all your dirty little secrets, how each of you is trying to build your own 'super' team to counter the Justice League. What's yours called, Team 7?"

Lynch couldn't hide his shock.

"Do I have your attention now, Mr. Lynch?'

"Yes."

"You're friend Waller has her own team, the Suicide Squad she runs out of her prison in Louisiana. Mr. Trevor is liaison for the Justice League, but he's putting together a team of his own too, isn't he? One for mystic problems called the Justice League Dark and another one with Waller called the Justice League of America. Eiling and Lane are experimenting with augmenting soldiers to create their own fighting force to counter those with the Meta gene. Each of you trying to keep it a secret from the others yet supposedly all doing it in the name of protecting the people. I have to hand it to you all, though, you seemed to be very good at coming up with names for your groups."

"How can you possibly know all that?" Lynch asked. "It's impossible."

"I can do a lot of things that seem impossible, Mr. Lynch,' Clark replied. "That's why you should make a deal with me tonight."

"What sort of deal?"

"You stop looking for me and get the others to stop and in return I'll vanish,' Clark said. "I'll live my life as a peaceful, law-abiding citizen just like everyone else. You'll never hear from me again."

"You really think you can just vanish?" Lynch said with a cold laugh.

"Like I said, I can do a lot of things that seem impossible to you,' Clark replied. "In fact you have no idea what I can do, Mr. Lynch, no one does."

"That sounds like a threat."

"No, just a statement of fact."

"I'll need some time to think about it,' Lynch offered.

"Fine,' Clark replied. He tossed a slip of paper to Lynch. "Here's a location of a pay phone about a mile from here. I'll give you one week and then I'll call that number for your reply. Be there at this exact time, Mr. Lynch or I'll take that as a no."

"And if the answer is no?" Lynch said.

"That would be a mistake."

Clark then just seemed to disappear into thin air.


	8. Chapter 8

Everybody Knows

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded  
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed  
Everybody knows that the war is over  
Everybody knows the good guys lost  
Everybody knows the fight was fixed  
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich  
That's how it goes  
Everybody knows.

Newport News, Virginia

Clark could see the ocean from where he was sitting. He liked the water. He set his newspaper down for a moment, took a sip of his coffee and just looked out at the water. He'd been keeping a low profile since his visit to Lynch. It was easiest to hide among the people he'd grown up with, poor people. It wasn't a political statement, just a fact; there were always more poor people then rich people. Always have been always will be. Rich people tend to get noticed too, far more than poor people do. If you don't want to stand out from the crowd, stick to the places where the crowd is the densest, usually poorer neighborhoods in larger cities. This was a lesson he'd learned from his parents. They were farm people, but they soon realized you get noticed in a rural landscape much faster than an urban one.

Clark had no illusions that Lynch was just going to give up. People like him don't usually get where they are by quitting. Lynch would be there for the phone call, Clark had no doubt about that, but he would have already scoped the spot out and would have a team of professionals in place. Lynch was a counter puncher, Clark had knocked him down with his first volley, but he wouldn't stay down forever. It was one of the reasons Clark picked Lynch to contact first.

Once he had the list of names of the people in charge, Clark had looked into all of them and what they would most likely wanted from him. One thing they all seemed to have in common, they wanted to put him in some form of box. General Lane and Eiling were easy to figure out. They wanted to kill him and dissect him. There was a chance they wanted him alive so they could experiment on him to create new weapons or better soldiers, but that was option B as far as they were concerned. If someone wants to kill you, you don't try and negotiate with them. You either kill them first or avoid they all together. Clark chose the second option.

Amanda Waller was an interesting woman. From everything Clark had read about her, he had to admit he almost admired how far she had made it so fast. Most probably didn't think she was that predictable, but it only took a simple review of her jobs to see that she liked control, first and foremost. When she briefly worked for Lynch she a tactical specialist. Since then her true calling had come out. Amanda Waller was comfortable being a jailer. She ran a public ultra super max prison and also a secret, off the books one called the Circus deep under Detroit. She used the inmates on her Suicide Squad, but she remained in control of them at all times. What she had planned for Clark was obvious, a cage. Oh it might be a high tech one, but a cage is a cage. He would only get out of it under very specific circumstances and only once Amanda was sure she could control him. You don't negotiate with someone like Amanda Waller, she dictates her terms and you are forced to accept them.

Steve Trevor seemed like a possibility at first but he'd come out of a military background. He was a team player and comfortable working as the go between from the higher authorities with the team. He was a manager, probably a good one by his record, Clark thought. The problem with managers though is they are ultimately not in charge. They might talk a good game and really believe what they are saying, but they follow orders, just like soldiers do. Trevor was already the liaison with the new Justice League group and from the files Clark had seen, would soon be forming other groups of Meta powered individuals. What happens if his superiors decided to use those groups against Clark? It was best to stay as far away from the superheroes as he could.

History is riddled with people that write books about how they were only following orders and how they really were against what they were ordered to do. They might all be sincere, but for those they followed orders against its little comfort. Clark wasn't about to put this life in the hands of a middleman. He might not have it all worked out yet, but he'd learned enough in his young life to know that you go to the top if you want results.

Since his parents had died, Clark had basically kept up the pattern they set, always moving from one place to another never staying anywhere too long. He liked travel and seeing new things but now that he was on his own he realized there was a chance he would live a very long time. If that were the case, eventually he'd want to settle down somewhere even if it was just a home base between trips. In his travels he'd met quite a few young women and it would be nice for once to stick around and see how things might play out.

It was such a strange dichotomy between his rather simple wants and desires and what those hunting him believed they might be. When he'd done his investigating to find out who was behind it all, he stumbled upon their thinking tank white paper on why they believed he was a threat and what scenarios they worried about regarding him. Basically they believed an alien with unknown, perhaps amazing powers would one day want to take over the world. It had seemed astonishing and laughable to him when he first read it, but that was the serious conclusions of all involved. They thought he was here to take over the world and subjugate the human race. In their minds this conclusion justified any measures they took against him. They were saving their world from an alien invader.

As Clark sat looking out at the water the idea of ruling the world was the furthest thing from his mind. Why would he want to ever do that, he couldn't help thinking? Yes his abilities allowed him to help people now and then, to bring a little justice into situations where it was denied, but the thought of taking on all the world's problems seemed like something only a madman would want to do. You would have to be delusional to even think you could. Clark had some amazing abilities that opened up possibilities to him that others didn't have but even at his young age he'd seen enough of the world to know one person couldn't change it all by himself. The irony was all the people hunting him, in their own way, were trying to do something like what they imagined Clark would someday want to do.

Clark hadn't figured out what he wanted to do with his life just like most 22 year olds hadn't. What he did know was as long as they viewed him as some alien bent on world domination he would never be rid of them. He would never be able to just have a life, any life, if he was constantly looking over his shoulder. It meant he had to cut some kind of deal with at least one of them. That's where Lynch came in.

Lynch was the slipperiest of all the people hunting Clark. He was deeper in the shadows then the rest. He had worked with aliens before, but he hadn't put them in cages to do it. Lynch wasn't above experimenting on anyone, even himself it appeared. The TK abilities he showed at his house had probably been the product of one of his experiments. While all of them seemed to be willing to step over that imaginary line between legal and illegal, it was Lynch that mostly likely lived there. He wanted something too, Clark just hadn't figured out what yet.

Clark figured if he were going to make a deal with the Devil, he'd make one with the Devil offering the best terms.

* * *

The Watchtower

A string of successes had outwardly confirmed the League's status as the number one group of protectors of Earth. Their popularity had soared and even those opposed to them wisely kept quiet. In a culture of celebrity, they were A+ listers. Everything they did was news. The public fascination with these heroes was insatiable and the media did it's best to feed it. The Justice League had that magical combination of celebrity and news that media loved. Gossip rags to hard news outlets could justify doing stories on them. From People magazine to the New York Times, all cashed on in covering their 'stories.'

Inwardly though, the newness of it all was starting to wear off. Tensions between the members were beginning to surface. These were all strong willed young people used to doing things on their own and working as a team wasn't natural to most of them.

Aquaman had brought in his wife, Mera for membership. The vote had been six to one. Batman had bought in Black Canary for membership. The vote had been six to two.

Arthur found Bruce in central command. He was monitoring not just Gotham but the rest of the world for trouble.

"Batman? A word?" Arthur began.

Bruce turned and looked at this teammate.

"I think we both know for this to work, one of us has to be in charge." Arthur offered.

"I agree." Bruce replied.

"I think we both believe we are the one it should be."

"Yes." Bruce said.

"It can't be you, Bruce,' Arthur stated.

"I disagree,' Bruce replied.

"I know,' Arthur admitted. "You are a natural leader just as I am and probably superior in tactics and planning."

"The move to bring in your wife speaks to you abilities, Arthur,' Bruce countered. "Your strategy skills seem to be well honed."

"You countered that with Black Canary, Bruce."

"Yes."

"We could each keep adding members to try and fortify our positions as leader, but I think we both believe the Justice League isn't ready for too much expansion just yet,' Arthur said. "Our public image is one thing, but we're not there yet."

"So what are you proposing?"

"You step away."

"You want me to quit?" Bruce said. He was somewhat surprised by this.

"No, not quit, you're too valuable to the team,' Arthur quickly clarified.

""I'm also the one bank rolling most of it,' Bruce pointed out. "Including this tower."

"Yes, but Atlantis has contributed, as has many others,' Arthur replied. "I'm only speaking of you stepping away in a leadership capacity."

"You think you're a better leader for the Justice League than I am?"

"Yes."

"I disagree."

"If leading was just tactics and strategy, I probably would agree with you, Bruce,' Arthur stated. "Unfortunately, it's not. The leader of the Justice League has to be the face of it. You aren't willing to be that, are you?"

"No." Bruce admitted.

"You have secret identity, most of us do not,' Arthur said. "Even Black Canary, who you brought in, is known to be Dinah Lance to the world. I respect your desire to remain anonymous as Batman, but you can't be the leader of the League and do it. You can't have both, Bruce."

"I disagree."

"So the next time there is a news conference or some government meeting where reporters from all over the globe are in attendance, you'd be willing to stand and answer their questions?" Arthur asked. "I think not. You are best in the shadows you know that. Part of your power is being mysterious, an unknown. Standing in front of spotlights isn't something you want to do. The leader of the Justice League has to."

"You're talking about the public face of the League, Arthur,' Bruce replied. "You're right, I have no desire for any of that, but I'm talking about the part that matters, in battle. I'm the best suited to organize the team and lead them."

"They go hand in hand,' Arthur countered. "This is a very young team, Bruce. Diana and Victor are only 18, while Billy is even younger. Barry and Hal have only been doing this for less than a year. Dinah and Mera, while experienced are both new to the team. You and I are the natural leaders, yet I believe it is best of only one of us takes that title. I can be what you can't, the public and private face of the League."

"Arthur, you're an Atlantian, especially now that your wife, Mera is on the team, that raises concerns,' Bruce said. "The surface dwellers as you and your people call us, are going to be worried about that. Hal is already affiliated with some alien police force that claims Earth as part of their dominion, while Diana's from some mystical island out of a storybook. You all raise concerns for ordinary people, especially within the governments. We're floating in a fortress above them already, we don't need to highlight just how different the members are right now."

"So you propose we continue as we have been?"

"Yes, mostly,' Bruce replied. "Neither of us is the most powerful member, Diana is. It's natural for the media and those in government to focus on the most powerful member as the leader. You add to that she'd one of the most beautiful women in the world and the spotlight is always going to find her. She's the face of the Justice League, Arthur, not us."

"And if she doesn't want to be the face of the League?"

"That's her choice,' Bruce said. "At those public events you spoke of, they've already decided it's her. Until a stronger member joins, which I doubt there is out there, Diana's going to be seen as the leader. If she's willing, I suggest we continue to let them believe that."

"That still doesn't settle who the private leader of the League is, Bruce." Arthur pointed out.

"I suggest you and I work more closely together in the future to present a coherent front as far as the members are concerned."

"A compromise?"

"Yes."

* * *

Langley, Virginia

John Lynch sat in his car by the pay phone. He arrived early for the call. The boy had surprised him in his home and overwhelmed him. Lynch was prepared this time and expected different results. The boy would be hidden when he made the call, but he was out there watching, Lynch was convinced. The key was getting him to show. Lynch believed he knew which button to push to make that happen, the boy's mother. It was a risk, a huge risk, but once he was out in the open, Lynch's team would deal with him. Going by their one encounter at his home, Lynch had assembled a special team for today. The boy, for all his abilities was still an amateur and the team was made up of professionals. The results this time were going to be very different.

* * *

Five miles away sitting on a hilltop Clark ate an apple, the burner cell phone on the ground next to him. As he expected, Lynch arrived early and not alone. Clark had been watching all of their movements and knew where each of them was positioned. Lynch had underestimated him again.

The hardest thing Clark had ever done was not killing Lynch when he had his hand around his throat. He wanted to so, so badly, but he'd made a promise. That promise was the only reason Lynch was still alive. Every time Clark thought about what people like Lynch had put his parents through, the anger would well up inside of him. That it was Lynch's men that had gunned down Martha Kent in front of his eyes just added to that anger. The sad part was Lynch would probably never realize the good, decent people he'd hounded were the reason he wasn't dead now. They had taught him not to let the anger consume him and for the most part he'd been able to do that. Clark had killed the agents that gunned down his mother and he had no regrets about that. While he hadn't killed again, that didn't mean he wouldn't. It just meant he hadn't had to yet.

The sun slowly dipped below the horizon. Darkness encompassed everything. At the precise moment, Clark made the call.

* * *

Lynch was out of his car and standing in the old style phone booth. He felt exposed as he closed the sliding door, but that was just part of the risk. He glanced at his watch several times and then the phone rang. He resisted the urge to pick it up on the first ring. On the four one he did.

"Hello?'

"Hello, Mr. Lynch."

It was the boy right on time.

"You have me at a disadvantage, boy, you know my name but I don't know yours,' Lynch said.

"Why don't you call me what you do in your reports, Subject S."

This surprised Lynch. How the kid knew these things he couldn't understand.

"How about I call you Mr. Kent?' He said, recovering quickly.

"If you want."

"That's your parents last name, wasn't it?" Lynch said, pressing his advantage. "They gave you a first name too, didn't they? What is it son?"

There was a pause on the phone.

"Mr. Lynch, this isn't one of those getting to know you meetings,' Clark finally replied. "You're not going to get me to trust or like you by calling me son or asking about what my parents named me. That's not how this is going to work."

"Then how is this going to work?"

"Simple,' Clark said. "You're going to answer a question. Are you going to leave me alone and stop hunting me?"

"No." Lynch said flatly.

There was a sigh on the other end.

"I told you that was a mistake, Mr. Lynch. Now I guess you'll find out how big a one."

"We can still make a deal, Kent." Lynch offered.

"You have nothing I want."

"How about your mother's body?" Lynch replied. "I can make sure it's buried again next to your father's?"

In the next moment the glass phone booth Lynch was standing in disintegrated around him. An involuntary scream came from his lips, as glass seemed to fill the air. He dropped and covered his head, using his powers to deflect the glass away from him. When he looked up he saw the masked figured hovering over him.

"You murder her and now want to negotiate letting her be buried?"

"I had her dug up after you left to check to see if your DNA was on her clothes,' Lynch replied.

"Is nothing beneath you?"

"Not when it gets me what I want,' Lynch replied. He raised his hand to his lips and spoke into a hidden microphone. "Target acquired, Take him down!"

Weapons fired came from all around him. Clark reacted, snatching the bullets out of the air, only to realize they were explosive charges. They went off in his hand and momentarily caused him to drop to the ground.

"It was a ploy, Kent, you're mother is in the ground right next to your father,' Lynch said. "I did dig her up, but we couldn't find any of your DNA so we put her back. It got you out in the open though, and that's was the whole idea."

Clark looked over at Lynch.

"I told you it was a mistake,' he said. In the next moment he put on a burst of speed and took out Lynch's snipers. He appeared in front of Lynch a moment later and dropped the weapons at his feet. Lynch raised his hand again.

"Stage two, now."

Two figures materialized twenty feet away from Clark. One was a man wearing a mask and armed to the teeth. The other was a woman dressed in what looked like a red one-piece bathing suit, carrying swords.

"Allow me to introduce Slade Wilson and Lady Zannah of Khera to you, Mr. Kent,' Lynch said with confidence. "Most people call them Deathstroke and Zealot."

Clark glanced at the newcomers. The woman was an alien and the man seemed to be some sort of Meta.

"You still made a mistake, Mr. Lynch."

They went into attack mode, coming straight at Clark. He waited for a moment as they drew their weapons and then counterattacked. With a burst of speed neither was ready for, he hit them both in the chest with his open palm, sending them flying across the street. He was back to Lynch in the next moment, his hand once again around his throat.

"You don't know how tempting it was last time, Mr. Lynch to kill you,' Clark whispered. "It's still very tempting."

"We-We can-can still make a deal!" Lynch gasped.

"You have nothing I want, Mr. Lynch."

In disgust Clark tossed Lynch to the ground and was preparing to take off when Deathstroke and Zealot came at him again.

"You won round one, boy, it's not over,' Wilson said.

Clark hovered several feet above the ground and looked at the two of them.

"Your weapons won't work against me,' Clark calmly said. "I've read about both of you. You have some sort of healing factor but even it has a limit, Mr. Wilson. I don't. Lady Zannah, you are an alien like me and a warrior. I imagine you live by some code. What does your code say when you face an equal or superior opponent? I have no wish to hurt either of you, but I will. Stand down."

"Like hell,' Wilson said and opened fired on Clark. His bullets never hit their mark and he found himself hurtling through the air and into a building. Clark turned to Zealot. She looked at him for a moment and then put her sword away.

"Thank you,' Clark said with a small smile.

He was just about to lift off, when Lynch called to him.

"Your ship!"

Clark turned.

"What about it?"

"I can get it for you,' Lynch quickly replied. "I can also get you taken off the wanted list, but you need to do something for me."

"What?"

Lynch smiled, it had worked out just as he planned.

"Let's negotiate, shall we, Mr. Kent?"


	9. Chapter 9

Let's Make a Deal

Langley, Virginia

Lynch knew he had Kent's attention. Dangling the notion of getting his ship back was just part of his strategy. The military had the ship hidden somewhere, but Lynch was confident he could find out its location. He had no intentions of giving it back. The art of the deal in Lynch's business was finding something someone wants very badly and then holding it just beyond their reach while they did what you wanted. Young Mr. Kent had proven surprisingly smart, but Lynch was an old hand at this. He would string him along until he was in too deep and Lynch would have him. He wished his men had found the Kents sooner and kept them alive, they would have been the ultimate bargaining chip, but no use crying over spilled milk.

"You work for me, Mr. Kent and I give you back your ship,' Lynch offered. "How does that sound?"

Clark had been surprised when Lynch brought up the ship. Frankly he hadn't thought about it in a long time. He would like it back, just to find out more about where he was originally from, but he seriously doubted Lynch would ever give it to him. If the crystals Jonathan Kent had taken were any indication, the ship was technology far more advance than anything found anywhere on Earth. Governments and branches of the military don't just give something like that away. In his digging, there had been no mention of it in any of the files he'd seen. Clark just assumed the military had it, as they probably saw it as a potential weapon.

So Lynch was lying, but then that's what people in his business do. Clark was reminded of the children's fable about the Scorpion and the Frog. The frog agrees to give the scorpion a ride across the stream on his back, but halfway there the scorpion stings him, drowning them both. The frog asks why and the scorpion's reply is 'it's in my nature." The story's moral is universal: Some creatures just are what they are. Lynch was what he was.

"Work for you?' Clark asked.

"Yes,' Lynch replied. "As you can see, I have no problem with aliens working for me."

He pointed to Zealot, who just stood by taking it all in.

"It's a good offer, Mr. Kent,' Lynch said with a smile. "Just think of it, you could have your ship back and fly off whenever you wanted. You could return home if that's something you want to do. You'd be back among your own people before you know it."

Clark suppressed a smile. Lynch had made a mistake and hadn't even realized it. If they'd been able to tap into the ship or getting working, they'd have known about Krypton. His comment about 'returning home' said they had nothing and the ship was still a complete mystery to them.

"You sign up, Mr. Kent, you get your ship, simple as that."

Clark floated down to the ground and stood in front of Lynch.

"Keep the ship."

"Wh-What?' Lynch asked in surprise.

"I said keep it,' Clark repeated.

"You don't want it back?" Lynch asked.

"Yes, but you're not going to give it to me, Mr. Lynch. You're going to string me along while I work for you,' Clark explained. "You'll keep delaying returning it with one excuse after another. That's not a negotiation that's blackmail, Mr. Lynch."

"No it's not!" Lynch proclaimed.

Clark turned to Deathstroke.

"Mr. Wilson, you're a hired gun," Clark said. "What does Mr. Lynch's offer sound like to you?"

Slade Wilson, Deathstroke wasn't especially fond of Lynch, but the money was good and he liked the work.

"It sounds like bullshit, kid,' Wilson said. "It's blackmail, he ain't got your ship and even if he did he wouldn't give it to you."

"Shut up, Wilson, remember whom you work for!" Lynch snapped.

"I hire out to you for the jobs you pay me, Lynch, but I don't work for you,' Wilson replied. "The kid asked me an honest question, I'm going to give him an honest answer."

"Thank you,' Clark said to Wilson and then turned his attention back to Lynch. "No deal, Mr. Lynch, keep the ship if you have it."

Clark started to float up off the ground.

"Wait!" Lynch shouted. The ship had been his best option, but it wasn't his only option. He'd seen some of what Kent could do and wanted him working for him.

"Forget the ship for now, we can still work out a deal, Kent!"

Clark stopped and looked down at Lynch. Now it was his turn to try some blackmail.

"Here's my offer, Mr. Lynch' Clark said. "You leave me alone and get the others to leave me alone and I'll leave you alone. A man in your position, Mr. Lynch relies on being anonymous. What happens if the press suddenly starts getting information about you and all the things you've been involved in? A spy that everyone knows is a spy becomes a liability, doesn't he Mr. Lynch?"

"That's blackmail!" Lynch shouted.

"I figured you'd spot that right away,' Clark replied. Under the mask he smiled.

"Exposing me won't get you what you want, Kent."

"It will eliminate one of my problems,' Clark countered. "You."

Lynch was scrambling now to come up with an alternative. The kid's threat could put his career in jeopardy. It wouldn't ruin it, as people like Lynch were always in demand, but it could put it in limbo for a while. He had one other proposal for young Mr. Kent.

"You could do some damage to me, Mr. Kent, but why not work with me instead?' Lynch replied. "What if I could make you legal, a citizen? That would solve a lot of your problems, wouldn't it?"

"I'm listening."

"A temporary O-type worker visa, Mr. Kent,' Lynch said. "They were set-aside for Individuals with Extraordinary Ability or Achievement. I think you would be classified and qualify under those parameters."

"Temporary worker visas as for non-American citizens that want to work in the US, Mr. Lynch." Clark replied. "I think you know that. I also think that doesn't apply to me."

"Hear me out, Kent,' Lynch countered. "The statute says: For persons with extraordinary ability or achievement in the sciences, arts, education, business, athletics, or extraordinary recognized achievements in the motion picture and television fields, demonstrated by sustained national or international acclaim, to work in their field of expertise. Includes persons providing essential services in support of the above individual. Nowhere does it say what sort of non-American alien it applies to. That's the loophole, Kent, it doesn't say you have to be from Earth, just that you're not from the United States."

Clark wasn't sure what to say. Lynch had a point, so he just waited for him to continue. What he was suggesting was something Clark hadn't considered before.

Lynch felt his confidence growing again. Kent hadn't flown off, so he was interested. He just needed to get Kent working for him and it would buy him time to come up with something else to keep him in the fold.

"Think about it, Kent." Lynch said. "I'll get you a temporary worker visa, O-type and you'll be legal. We can put it in any name you want, but it will all be legal."

"What what's the price of this offer?" Clark asked.

"Same as before, you work for me,' Lynch replied.

"Not interested."

Again Clark started to float away.

"Wait, we're still negotiating, Kent,' Lynch quickly said. "To have the temporary visa, you have to have a job. I'll provide that. We can make you a sub-contractor like Mr. Wilson. The visa will be good for 6 months and in exchange you do some work for me. At the end of the 6 months you can walk away. I tell you what, I'll make it even simpler for you. As a good faith gesture on my part, I'll get you a 2 month temporary O-type visa to start and you only have to do one job for me."

"What's the job?" Clark asked.

Lynch smiled as his pulled a smart phone from his pocket. The hook was about to be set and it would only be a matter of reeling Kent in after that. He had thought of this job several days ago and figured it was perfect for Kent. He quickly scrolled through the pictures until he found just the right one. He held it up for Clark to see.

"I want you to rescue her,' Lynch said.

Clark looked at the picture. It was of a stunningly beautiful young woman with orange skin and flaming red hair. She also wore the briefest outfit Clark had seen outside of a beach.

"Who is she?" He asked.

"Her name is Koriand'r, she's an alien like you, Kent,' Lynch explained. "She's being held prisoner in New Gammora. They are using some sort of device to siphon off her powers and harness them to power weapons."

"Why not just send in your team?' Clark asked, gesturing to Deathstroke and Zealot. "I'm sure they're more than capable of rescuing her."

"Oh, they are. Unfortunately, they're known on New Gammora, plus I have other jobs for them,' Lynch replied. "You are an unknown, so if something happens and you fail, it doesn't tie back to me or the government."

Lynch tossed the smart phone to Clark. He looked at the picture again. She was definitely an alien, what kind he had no clue. She was young, probably only 20 at the most. That she was being held captive made Clark want to accept the job immediately and rescue her, but he remembered he was dealing with Lynch. There had to be more to it than a simple rescue.

"Why her and why do you want her rescued, Lynch?" Clark asked. "Are you going to force her into your serve too?"

Lynch laughed.

"She already works for me, Kent,' he said. "That was why she was in New Gammora. She's an exile from her own world living here on Earth. Openly too, Kent, unlike you, she made a deal. She's a citizen of the United States now in exchange for doing a few jobs for me."

"So a temporary visa for rescuing her? Is that it?"

Lynch wanted to close the deal and figured one more fact might just push it over the top. Young men like to believe they are chivalrous and noble. Lynch figured that sort of crap would appeal to young Mr. Kent.

"She's a princess back on her own world, Kent,' Lynch offered. "You'd be rescuing a princess just like in a fairy tale."

Clark highly doubted it would be like a fairy tale, but even if he didn't make a deal with Lynch he knew he was going to try and rescue the young woman.

"So you're going to give me a temporary visa if I go to New Gammora and bust her out? That's the deal, Lynch?"

"Basically yes, but you have to do it quietly, Kent,' Lynch replied. "That means you have to tone down your abilities so they aren't noticed. You get in and get her out without them figuring out what or who you are. Quietly, Kent, this has to be a very, quiet, stealthy mission that can't be traced back to me."

"I want the temporary visa first."

"All right, what name should I put on it?" Lynch asked.

Clark thought about it. He'd used so many names over the years that one seemed as good as another. If this was only going to be a 2-month thing, which he thought it probably would, he might as well use the name Jonathan and Martha had christened him with as a small tribute to them.

"Kent."

"And a first name?"

"How about something like Clark this time,' he suggested.

"Clark Kent, welcome to the United State of America,' Lynch replied with a big smile.


	10. Chapter 10

Vermeer

Texas – Gulf Coast

Sometimes the voices just got too much. The constant din of sound battered away at his mind until making it stop was all that mattered. He sought out the water as a way of finding one direction where the voices were quiet.

The world is made of layers, horizontal and vertical that divide up reality for all of us. Each reality overlaps at the edges with those we are acquainted with, yet we are really like strangers brushing against one another on the sidewalk. We get brief glimpses occasionally into someone else's world, but for the most part we are blissfully ignorant.

When he was 10, the Kents had stopped from the endless traveling and settled in a small rental park for a couple of months. The second week there they noticed Clark seemed sullen and asked him why? He proceeded to tell them what was actually happening inside every one of their neighbors' cozy little bungalows. The look of horror that came over Martha and Jonathan's faces taught Clark to never make that mistake again. They didn't need to brush against those strangers and have those layers exposed to them. They were already doing enough; they didn't need him to add to their burden.

Clark sometimes wondered if his Kryptonian parents really knew all of what it meant to send him to Earth. How the illusion that most people are good and decent would never last against what his abilities allowed him to see and hear. In many ways he envied those heroes that the public cheered. Battling monsters and villains, stopping bank robberies or even something as mundane as a mugging, seemed cut and dried compared to knowing what was happening in all those little neatly spaced houses and anonymous looking apartments. To hear the fights, the abuse, the tears, the desperate prayers of everyone around you and be unsure what to do seemed more like a curse and then a blessing.

In the last ten years Clark had made thousands of calls to the police and children's services leaving anonymous tips about abuse and crimes that were being done in private. It was such a fine line in the shadows. He could hear what was happening but he couldn't just rush into someone's private world and fix it. How many last heartbeats had he heard in those years including his parents and know there was nothing he could do about them?

A 16-year-old girl mistakenly drinks too much at a high school party and the football players line up to take their turn with her half conscious body. What had to be turned off inside those attending to just stand around watching, laughing and take pictures of something like that? It all happened in private and something, not enough, was only done when those pictures were posted on the Internet.

Brothers kidnap and chain three young girls in their basement, keeping them slaves for years. The neighbors say they never knew or suspected. Everyone's shocked when it finally becomes public, yet that horror was happening in private for years.

A young man goes off the rails and starts stockpiling weapons and explosives in his apartment. As he goes further over the deep end into madness, no one suspects until he shows up and starts shooting in a movie theater.

These are just a few examples of things that started in private and eventually became public, but how many similar horrors and nightmares never do? Imagine being able to hear all of them as they are happening. If you could, where is the line between public and private? What do you do when you hear all those tragedies unfolding?

Clark had been struggling with this all his life. Yes he heard the good things too, the joy, the love and most of all the laughter that somehow made it almost bearable. Yet for his own sanity he had to tune it out, to cut off the voices or be overwhelmed by them. It was as struggle everyday, to put up those barriers, to wall off those layers, yet always know they were out there.

Concentrating, he took several deep breaths and pulled back on his awareness, silencing the voices. He had a task at hand. Lynch had told him to keep the smart phone with the young alien woman's picture on it and he would call him when he had the visa. He'd picked it up two days ago. Clark knew the phone was a subtle way of trying to track him. He disable the GPS immediately and had taken the phone apart 3 times and put it back together just to make sure Lynch hadn't installed a backup system.

As much as he wanted the temporary visa, he knew it came with risks. Clamping down his desires, he had to be practical. He couldn't trust these people, Clark kept telling himself. Lynch was like the others. He would deal with Clark only until he either got what he wanted or until he could figure out a way to capture and control him.

The temporary visa, Lynch believed it was the hook to reel Clark in. It wasn't. He just wanted something official with his given name on it, Clark Kent. It was a gesture. Sometimes a gesture seems pointless or silly to everyone except the person making it. To Clark this was his way of thanking Jonathan and Martha for all they'd done for him, all they'd sacrificed. He knew he could never repay them but at least their name would continue. It was now official; their son was Clark Kent. He'd buried the visa with them in Smallville. There was no picture on it, but it was the name that mattered.

He'd spent the last three days moving around the country listening to those private, in the shadows, voices. He made calls, so many calls to report those private crimes that rarely got reported. He'd put Lynch's smart phone to good use. He'd better have an unlimited minutes plan or he would be getting a rather large bill at the end of the month. As for the picture of the Starfire, Clark had only needed to see the picture once to remember it. He'd just finished another round of calls to the authorities and now it was time to dump the phone just in case.

He'd struck a bargain with Lynch and as much as he distrusted him, Clark was a young man of his word. He would free the young woman, but his way.

* * *

The Watchtower

Diana moved through the hallways, saying hello to her teammates when she saw them. She liked that she wasn't the only woman in the League anymore, but she also realized why the new additions were made. While she was young and new to the world, Arthur wasn't the only one that understood how palace politics worked. Her mother was the Queen of the Amazons, so Diana had been well schooled in how things worked behind the scenes.

There was a rivalry for leadership between Batman and Aquaman. Both saw themselves as the natural leader of the group and had made moves to cement their position. Each had their strengths. The tit for tat inductions of Mera and Dinah weren't a coincidence. Diana had also noticed a subtle shift recently in the dynamics of the group. At all the public functions, her name was always on the list near the top. Batman had stopped attending any of them, while Aquaman was always gracious, allowing her to take center stage when the reporters and the questions started.

She was 18 and they just assumed she was naïve, but Diana saw clearly what was happening. The two older men, Bruce and Arthur, were propping her up as some sort of figurehead or public face for the League. At first she had been privately angry about it, but then she remembered something her mother had taught her. Perceptions can change in the blink of an eye. If others wish to underestimate you, let them and use it to your advantage. If Bruce and Arthur wanted to present her as a leader of the League, then Diana would start acting like the leader of the League. Tactics in battle were only part of being a leader. Cultivating relationships also mattered. To this end, Diana had made it a point to get to know her teammates, especially the younger ones like herself.

So as she walked by the makeshift computer room, she saw Billy staring intently at one of the screens. At first she suspected he was playing one of those infernal games he seemed constantly enthralled by, but as she took a closer look she saw he was looking at news articles. That seemed out of character for him, as despite his large size he just seemed younger than the rest.

"What are you reading Billy?" She asked.

He fumbled at first, caught off guard by her and then quickly turned the monitor off before standing up and blocking it from her view. He gave her a nervous smile and tried to sound more confident then he was.

"Hey, Diana, what's up with you?"

"I was wondering what you were so interested in, Billy,' she replied, gesturing towards the monitor he seemed intent on hiding.

"Nothing."

"Billy."

"Look, it wasn't porn or anything, Diana,' he blurt out. "Batman already gave me the lecture about these being for work only, so we're cool, no worries."

"Um, well, that's good to know,' Diana hesitantly replied. "I noticed you were looking at news stories, though, and that doesn't seem like you."

"Hey, I'm a man of the world,' he offered with a big smile. "I like to stay on top of all the, you know, stuff, going on."

"The stuff?"

"Yeah."

"There's no need to be embarrassed, Billy, I won't tell anyone what you were looking at,' Diana replied. "Unless it really is pornography, in which case you and I along with Mera and Dinah will be having a long talk."

"It wasn't porn, promise, besides, who reads porn?" Billy asked.

"So what was it?" Diana asked.

"You'll think it's stupid."

"I promise I won't,' Diana assured him.

Reluctantly Billy stepped aside and turned the monitor back on. Diana moved closer and read the article on the screen. It was another account of people saying Death had helped them. She looked at Billy.

"I thought we all discussed this and you understood it really wasn't Death that you saw in Metropolis, Billy?"

"Yeah, I know and you're guys are probably right,' Billy admitted. "It's just that it sure looked like Death and the way it backhanded Hal halfway across the city and all was pretty awesome."

"It was someone with powers, Billy, like you and me," Diana stated.

"That's what you all say and I guess I believe you,' Billy replied. "It's just that it got me thinking. I've been looking around trying to see if there are any other reports of something like that happening. I found some Diana, all over the country."

"What? What do you mean?" Diana asked in surprise.

"Something or someone is helping people," Billy explained. "It's not the figure of Death like I saw, you know with the scythe and the cloak, but some thing is out there, in the shadows."

Diana could see he was serious.

"Show me what you've found, Billy."

* * *

New Gammora

The private jet eased to a stop next to the terminal and the door opened a few moments later. Donning his sunglasses, 19-year-old Dick Grayson smiled as he stepped out into the noonday sun. While they had their differences, Dick was still technically part of Bruce Wayne's family, so when he showed up at Gotham airport with the flight plan the pilots didn't think anything of it. Being associated with Wayne Enterprises also helped smooth his entrance into the tightly control island nation of New Gammora. The fact that Bruce didn't know and probably would be pissed was just an added bonus.

Local officials were waiting to great him as he walked down the staircase. Officially he was here to scout possible investment opportunities for Wayne Enterprises. The authoritarian, dictatorial regime was always welcoming to western companies looking to cut costs by outsourcing their manufacturing. Their favorable labor laws and taxes made it a haven for big business, especially those that didn't want to look too closely at things like working conditions,safety regulations or environmental concerns.

The real reason Dick was there was simple, Koriand'r. While their relationship was all but over, that didn't mean he didn't still care for her. When he heard through the grapevine she was being held prisoner here, he knew he had to come. Why she was here in the first place was something of a mystery that he was still piecing together, but that took a backseat to her safety.

As the officials ushered him towards the waiting limos, Dick's phone went off. He begged their pardon and answered it.

"What the hell are you doing with my jet, Dick?" Bruce demanded immediately.

"Bruce!" Dick said with a smile for the benefit of the local officials. "Yes, had a wonderful flight here to New Gammora! Just arrived, actually."

"I already know where you are, damn it," Bruce snapped on the other end of the line. "I want to know why you're there? It's the girl, isn't it?"

"Yes, Bruce, the weather is perfect here,' Dick replied. "How's it back in Gotham?"

"Damn it, you're going in there halfcocked and don't know the situation. You steal one of my planes in some stupid attempt to save her when you don't even know why she was there in the first place, do you?" Bruce growled. "Did you forget everything I taught you? Get back on that plane right now, make whatever excuses you want, and come back to Gotham now."

"You want a souvenir, you say?" Dick replied. "One of those funny hats that look like a triangle? Done, Bruce, I'll pick one up as soon as I get to the hotel. Now I have to go, the nice people from the government are waiting for me. Bye!"

"Damn it, Dick! …" Bruce started to shout, but the phone went dead in his hand. Dick Grayson smiled at the officials.

"He's sorry he couldn't be here," Dick offered with a frown. "I apologize for the interruption, I'll just turn my phone off so that won't happen again."

* * *

New Gammora

You didn't need a passport or an entrance visa if you weren't arriving by plane or ship, which Clark wasn't. He flew low over the ocean, making sure he was invisible to radar or satellites. He landed on the uninhabited rocky coast and quickly disappeared into the heavy jungle. He could see the capital in the distance and guessed that was where they were holding the young woman. He figured he'd scout around and listen before he did anything. In the back of his mind, Clark kept thinking Lynch hadn't told him everything, so he wanted to be careful. Reading up on Princess Koriand'r he realized her abilities were similar to his, so whatever they were using to hold her had the potential to work on him. Clark wouldn't put it past Lynch to have set this all up to capture him and the young woman was just bait for the trap.

Dressed in black, he slipped on the lightweight mask he'd made and silent headed towards the capital. Cameras seemed to everywhere in the world and the last thing he wanted was to be capture on tape halfway around the world breaking someone out of prison. Too much attention would only bring more heat to him and that was the last thing he wanted.


	11. Chapter 11

Matisse - Red Room

New Gammora

The island nation was elongated, with one end being volcanic mountains and the rest sloping down from it to the fertile lowlands that reached the white sand beaches. The original Gammora had been destroyed under rather mysterious circumstances. There was speculation they had been testing a new type of weapon and it had accidently went off. There were also rumors that outsiders had attacked and set off a chain of events that caused its end. Whatever the real truth, the inhabitants had to relocate, thus New Gammora.

The problem was the island they chose as a destination, was already inhabited. This proved to be less the Gammorans problem than the original inhabitants problem. History is littered with examples of what happens when a more technologically advance people comes into contact with a less technologically advanced people. Native people around the globe know how that story ends only too well.

Sloping down from the volcanic mountains, New Gammora was divided up into a series of terraces. The lowest terrace, situated next to the beach was home for the glittering modern capital. Neat, orderly avenues, all carefully planned out, divided the modern buildings and from the sea looked like Hong Kong only newer. The next terrace up was the homes and apartments, along with high-end shops and boutiques of the most successful of the New Gammorans. This terrace was also well planned out, spacious and providing spectacular views of the harbor.

The third terrace was the less successful inhabitants. This was where the careful planning started to break down. The third, forth, fifth, sixth and seventh terraces tended to run together and by the time you got to the fifth terrace it was a chaotic mishmash of buildings all packed and stacked up together. Of course this was where most of the people lived. The last terrace was what remained of the dense jungle that had originally covered the entire island and extended to the volcanic mountains on the other coast.

Clark floated along the tree line in the jungle. He was new at this rescue business so he was in no rush. He read about the island before he came, but reading about somewhere and actually being there are two different things. He wanted to get a feel for the place and adjust his ear to the language. The first thing he noticed was the amount of security. Even for a modern surveillance heavy, authoritarian government, it seemed severe. The security forces didn't patrol the upper, poorer terraces with boots on the ground, but drones in the sky mounted with cameras and weapons. It seemed the government wanted to monitor everyone all the time and wasn't shy about letting them know it.

As he let his vision reach out and examine the shiny new capital he could see security was just as tight, but perhaps not as in your face of the tourists and wealthy. The island nation had the feel of a prison, like Alcatraz on steroids. It was as he was listening to the locals that something jumped out to Clark. The island had something called Meta-monitors, basically devices stationed all over the island to detect the use of Meta-abilities and send up the alarm. What exactly was happening on this island that they worried about Metas he couldn't help wondering. Once again he realized Lynch hadn't told him the whole story. Something else was going on here and Clark had just walked into it.

* * *

New Gammora

Dick Grayson sat slumped in an oversized chair, looking over the skyline of the capital from the comfort of his luxurious hotel room. An empty bottle of champagne lay on the floor next to him and to all appearances he was just another wealthy tourist that had partied too hard his first night in the city. This was by design, of course. After arriving, Dick had checked in, before allowing the government officials to wine and dine him. They had taken him on a carefully orchestrated tour of the island and modern factories, never leaving terrace one or two. It was all part of the sales pitch and every detail was crafted to show the island nation in the best light.

For his part, Dick had played the stereotypical American. He talked and laughed too loud, thought he could buy anything, expected everyone to speak English, tipped too much and just general played the clueless tourist big footing his way through someone else's culture. Americans abroad tend to stand out wherever they go and Dick did his best to live up to those standards.

Towards midnight he let it be known that jet lag and the drinks were finally starting to catch up with him. His hosts took him back to his hotel and bid him good night. Champagne bottle in hand Dick made a show of getting to his room. Once inside he tripped and slammed into one of the wall fixtures before finally dropping down into a chair to look out through the sliding glass doors. He turned on some music and sat in the dark.

As he started out the glass doors, Dick slowly began to count out a beat against his chest. From the outside this probably looked like a drunken man keeping tempo with the music. Like everything that had happened so far, though, it was all part of a carefully staged façade. He wasn't drunk, but when he checked into this room he spotted the cameras right away. Stumbling and falling against the fixture had taken out the camera that covered the sliding doors. It left them in a blind spot for whoever was watching. His tapping on his chest was counting the seconds between the outside cameras passing his windows. Dick had logged all of them and their locations. He needed to time it just right if he was going to leave the room and not be spotted.

Like his mentor, Dick preferred the dark of night for his work. His trip around the capital showed him there were just too many cameras for him to avoid them all. Sooner or later he'd be caught on one of them, he just wanted it to be away from the hotel. Dick's plans was rather simple, free Koriand'r and then gets back on the Wayne Enterprises jet and get the hell out of here. That was the basic overview, which on the surface lacked more than a few details, but he'd been adding to the plan since he arrived.

He also knew Bruce would hate all of this. It wasn't the jet or even the Wayne Enterprises name that would worry him; it was the going in without complete plan ahead of time. Perhaps that was part of why they didn't work together anymore. Their styles had grown apart, plus Dick was an adult now and didn't feel like following someone else's lead. He knew if he turned on his phone Bruce would have probably called a dozen times and left messages telling him to rethink what he was doing. Deep down Dick knew it was just Bruce's way. He cared deeply, but didn't like to show it. That was another thing different about them.

It wasn't time to be thinking about his mentor, he knew. Turning his attention back to the cameras he continued to count the beats against his chest trying to find the exact moment to start.

* * *

The Watchtower

Diana's talk with Billy had gotten her thinking. Since the battle against the Parademons she hadn't really given much thought about who it actually was that had appeared to him, other than to try and convince Billy it wasn't Death. So many new challenges had come their way; there hadn't been time to figure out whom it was.

Time to correct that and also get to know another of the younger members better. She found Victor in the computer room. He seemed to spend most of his time there. She couldn't imagine what it must be like to have your entire life changed like he had. They were close in age so it brought the tragedy home even more.

"Victor, may I have a moment?" Diana asked.

He turned and gave her a smile.

"Sure Diana, what can I do for you?"

He appreciated that she always called him by his given name. It was a little thing, but it helped.

"The figure from the battle in Metropolis,' she began. "Is there any more information on who it was?"

"The one that knocked Hal halfway across the city?"

"I believe he said it was a lucky punch,' Diana replied with a smile. "Yes, that one."

"There's not really much on him,' Victor said. "I already went over all the cameras in the city trying to pinpoint where he came from but a lot of the streets in the poorer neighborhoods don't have ATMs or traffic cams. I compiled what there is of him right after it happened."

"You did? Why?" Diana asked.

"Batman."

"Oh, yes, of course, I should have guessed,' Diana replied. They shared a smile over this. "Might I see it, please?"

"Sure, but I should warn you there's really no clues as to who it was,' Victor said.

"So it definitely was someone?"

"Absolutely,' Victor nodded. "Not Death, of course, but whoever he was he does make an impression."

"It was definitely a male?" Diana asked.

"Take a look for yourself."

Victor cued up the video and let it play. It took only one look for Diana to know it was definitely a man.

* * *

Langley, Virginia

Lynch stood in front of the interactive map accessing all the operations he had going around the world. Most were the usual hotspots, but a few were places most people had never heard of before. Lynch was good at his job because he had a nose for potential problem areas and would neutralize them before they got on anyone's official radar.

The door opened and Deathstroke and Zealot came in.

"Well?" Lynch asked.

"We found the phone,' Deathstroke said, tossing it on the table. "A homeless guy in Texas was ordering pizzas with it. The kid used it and then dumped it."

"Where did he use it?" Lynch asked. "Who did he call?"

"That's just it,' Zealot replied. "As far as we can tell he made no personal calls. They were all 911 or calls to children's services, all over the country. He was reporting crimes."

"The kid's playing you, Lynch,' Deathstroke added with a grin.

Lynch seemed to think about this for a moment.

"Perhaps but it gives us a little more information about the elusive Mr. Kent." He offered.

"What, that he has a strong moral compass?" Zealot sarcastically said.

"Yes, and I can use that,' Lynch replied.

'You better hope the princess has better luck, Lynch," Deathstroke said.

"Oh, I'm sure she will,' Lynch said with a smile. "A beautiful, young damsel in distress, what young man could resist?"

* * *

New Gammora

Dick had the timing down; it was just a matter of finishing up his act for the cameras in his room. He might not plan as far ahead as Bruce, but each action was done to the best of his abilities. Slowly he'd slumped down in the seat until he was able to convincing slip off and dropped to the floor. He was in the blind spot. Dick slipped off his shoe and sock and threaded them over the bottom of the empty champagne bottle. At close inspection it would look like what it was, but on a camera in the dark it would look enough like his leg to fool most. Letting out a groan for the benefit of the microphones, he moved the shoe into position. As far as security would be concern, the young American was drunk and sleeping it off in his room.

From the distance he saw an explosion. It seemed to be in the factory district his escorts hadn't allowed him to visit. A fireball rose up into the darkness and then the sound of alarms went off. Dick waited a moment longer, realizing this could work to his advantage, the more confusion the better for his plans. Untying his other shoe and slipping it off, he picked up the count again. He would have preferred to be wearing his Nightwing outfit, but getting it through customs and a search at the airport might have been problematic. He could hear sirens and knew it was no or never.

Beat-pause-pause-pause-Beat, he moved towards the open glass doors and launched himself into the night sky.

Unlike his mentor, Dick was a natural acrobat. He somersaulted in midair and then tucked into a landing on the rooftop across from his hotel. Perfect, he'd made it passed the first series of cameras undetected. Now there was just the rest of the city to navigate along with finding Koriand'r. He had a good idea of where she was being held from hacking one of his host's cell phone, but there was still the part of getting there undetected.

* * *

New Gammora

Clark had managed to work his way down to the fourth terrace. Dressed in black, with a mask, his speed, ability to fly, along with his hearing and sight meant he could avoid being seen by anyone even in the crowded slums of the terraces. It took longer and he had to let his senses extend much further than he preferred, but he wasn't going to let himself rush into whatever might be waiting for him.

His plans changed when the fire broke out. It was obviously a sweatshop, more a sheet metal building with no windows or ventilation than a factory. He could smell the crude oil and the chemicals they were using openly to treat the products they were making. It would have been a health hazard without the fire, but with it the factory was a death trap. He could probably put out the fire with his breath but that wouldn't help the immediate concern. At least a hundred people were trapped inside and the smoke would overwhelm them before anyone could get to them.

All around him the people of the terraces were rushing to help, carrying buckets and hoses, anything they could think to put out the fire. Running water was spotting at best on the upper terraces. Clinging to the shadows, Clark followed and saw these valiant efforts weren't going to be enough. The factory had one door and the fire had consumed it. Almost like horses, the people trapped inside didn't know which way to turn and froze. Rescuing the young woman could wait. Clark moved around to the back of the building. There were less people there, but it couldn't be help that they might see him. Rising up, he fired his heat vision and carved out a wide hole in the back of the building. The piece of metal fell outwards and those standing around turned to look at him. Dressed in black, they only saw a silhouette against the night sky and then he was gone. Their attention returned to the building as the first few of those trapped inside came staggering out.

* * *

New Gammora

Dick had worked his way halfway across the city. When the news of her capture had come in, Dick had acted immediately. Now though, something felt wrong about the whole set up. First of all the information he'd hacked indicated Koriand'r wasn't being held in a military facility or even a high level secret government building, but a luxurious private apartment complex close to the beach. That made no sense if she was a prisoner, but if she wasn't a prisoner than what was she?

He'd come this far, so he wanted answers and the only way to get them was to see her. He continued to pick his way across the city and the surveillance only seemed to get thicker the closer he got to her location. That made sense if she was being held, but more and more it felt like a trap. He could hear Bruce's voice warning him in his mind, but Dick continued on.

* * *

New Gammora

Clark had waited until everyone got out of the factory and then continued on towards the city. He made up for lost time, taking a few more chances but was now inside the capital. He heard vague whispers about a beautiful alien woman but nothing on her location. He would have to scan all the buildings to find which one she was in. It was as he started the process he saw the young man in the suit and tie. He moved with the fluid grace of a performer and seemed to be trying to evade the security cameras too.

His interest peaked; Clark followed him at a distance. He couldn't help wondering if Lynch hadn't sent in someone else with the same assignment. That sounded like Lynch, pitting two people against each other to see who accomplished the goal. It probably made some sort of sense from Lynch's point of view, but Clark really wasn't interested. He'd agreed to rescue the young woman. There was no stipulation he had to do it himself. The guy in the suit and tie seemed highly motivated, so if he were here to rescue her too, Clark would let him. When the young man headed towards one of the luxury private apartments by the beach, Clark's interested increased. Part of him just wanted to see how this was going to play out.

* * *

New Gammora

Princess Koriand'r moved slowly across the large living room of the penthouse apartment. She had been here a week and was frankly bored with it all now. Pouring herself another glass of the cold fruit punch she moved over to the glass doors and opened them, looking out at the night sky and the ocean below.

"Psss, Kory."

She turned and nearly dropped her glass.

"Dick? What are you doing here?" She asked.

"I'm rescuing you,' he replied, as if that was self evident.

"You shouldn't be here,' she stated. "Get out now. Dick, please."

"Why?" He asked in surprise.

"Yes, Princess, I'd like to know the answer to that question too?"

Dick and Koriand'r turned to see Clark floating just outside her glass doors.


	12. Chapter 12

miro - **femme assise**

New Gammora

Martha Kent had worried about her son's temper and that was the reason with her dying breath she'd made him promise not to let his anger consume him. She wanted him to be better than they were. For the most part, Clark had kept his promise. It had been hard though, so hard at times to let go on the anger. When his fingers were around Lynch's neck it would have taken so little effort to crush the life out of him for his role in killing Clark's parents. He hadn't, but there were a few times he hadn't been able to let it go. At the bar when the young women insulted his friend, he should have just walked away, but he didn't. When Pete had been killed by the parademons it had been anger that made him pick up the scythe.

We all have triggers that touch off our anger, injustice, cruelty, bullies, etc., but those are the obvious ones. Some times our anger is a surprise, even to us, when it appears. This is especially true when we're young, as every emotion seems closer to the surface. Clark told himself he was doing this because he'd made a deal with Lynch, and for the most part that was the truth, but there was another reason. The princess was like him, an alien on this world. She was even around his age. There was a possibility she would understand what it was like. The idea of meeting someone similar was too tempting to resist. Even if Clark hadn't made the deal with Lynch, he would have come here to try and save her. He had to give Lynch credit, he found the right bait.

So as he followed the young man across the city it became clear which building he was heading to. Clark scanned the entire structure, something he was sure Lynch or anyone else didn't know he could do. It turned out the princess was being held prisoner. Thin bracelets around her wrists were rigged so if she used her powers or left the room, it triggered explosives throughout the rest of the building, which would kill everyone in it. The other tenants were basically hostages, whether they knew it or not. They were part of a bomb with the trigger on top.

As he looked closer though, Clark saw there was more to it. The penthouse where Koriand'r was had weight sensors beneath the floor. If someone went in to rescue her, they would trip another trigger that when they tried to leave and it would set off the explosives. It was a honey trap design to lure someone in. Clark had a good idea who that someone was and it wasn't the young man currently disabling the sensors.

So she was in on it.

Clark felt the anger rising inside of him. He cursed himself for being a fool to even hope this might be on the level and that he might meet someone like himself who understood. His disgust and anger seemed to grow the more he thought about it. He knew someone like Lynch was capable of doing this, but he hoped it wasn't true of everyone. He was wrong and now all those people in the building were unknowingly hostages to people like Lynch and his ilk.

Using his speed Clark removed all the explosives and tossed them out to sea. That should have been enough, he told himself. Let the other young guy save the princess, Clark didn't care at this point. Except he did care. He wanted her to know; he knew. He wanted her to go back to Lynch with a message - you lose again. So he did something rash, something he knew he shouldn't, but his anger got the best of him once again. He was dressed in black and still had a mask on, but it was still a risk. He did it anyway. Clark floated up in front of her open glass doors to confront her.

She was talking to the other young man and apparently his name was Dick. She was telling him he shouldn't be here and to go now. He asked why?

"Yes, princess, I'd like to know the answer to that question too?" Clark said.

They turned to look at him.

* * *

Kori had been surprised and shocked to see Dick. Him showing up wasn't in her plan. He would ruin everything. Then the other voice came and she turned to see him. His face was masked, but she somehow knew he was the one. When Lynch had approached her with this assignment, she'd been reluctant at first. That was until Lynch described what the young man could do. Something clicked in her mind. While she had no first hand experience with them, her people, the Tamarans, had met many races over the years. The name that popped into her head was Kryptonian.

She hadn't told Lynch this off course. That would only wet his appetite for acquiring this young man. What Kori's people believed was that the Kryptonians were an old race, much older than her own, and they were arrogant, xenophobic, condescending, extremely dangerous and basically thought themselves better than anyone else in the galaxy. When the two races had first come into contact the Kryptonians had been dismissive of the Tamarans, basically saying they wanted nothing to do with them or their world. They basically said in so many polite words, you're young and barbarians, we'll take a pass on further contact. As you can imagine that didn't go over so well with the Tamarans. If they needed proof of their opinion of the Kryptonians they only had to look at how they'd destroyed their own planet. So a Kryptonian on Earth was not good. This was her adopted home and she wasn't about to let him destroy this world like his people had his own.

"You're Mr. Kent I take it?" She said.

"Yes."

* * *

Dick Grayson liked to think he was as sharp as they come. He had his doubts about this whole situation from the beginning, but now realized there were several important pieces he was missing. For one, there was a guy just floating outside the penthouse doors, just floating in the air. Two, Kori's whole demeanor had changed when she saw the guy floating outside; her posture and look said she was ready to attack at any moment. Dick rolled his eyes as he realized he was never going to hear the end of this from Bruce.

"Kori, what's going on?" He asked.

"Yes, why don't you tell him, princess?" The guy floating outside the window said.

Dick looked back and forth at the two of them, his general unease growing by the moment.

"You shouldn't be here, Richard," Kori said. "You should go."

"Not until I get some answers,' he replied. "I thought you were a prisoner?"

"I am. It's complicated."

"She's bait and this is all an elaborate trip,' Clark said. "I would suggest you leave too. The sensors you disabled have been noticed and soldiers are probably on their way up here right now."

"Soldiers?"

Dick looked at Kori, but she hadn't moved a muscle, just kept staring at the man floating outside the doors.

"I know what you are,' she hissed towards Clark.

"I doubt that,' he replied. "But this set up certainly tells me about who you are. I disable the explosives, princess; the trap's not going to work. You can give Lynch when you see him a big F-U from me. Now I'll leave you to be 'rescued' by your friend."

Clark started to move off into the darkness and away from the building.

"Arrogant just like my people said,' Kori whispered. She pressed a button on the bracelets and then slipped them off. "Richard, thank you for coming, but you should leave now."

"What? Why?"

"Cause I'm going after him, 'Kori replied. "And he's probably right; there will be quite a few soldiers arriving any moment. Thank you for coming for me, but you need to leave immediately."

Kori gave him a kiss and then took off out the window after Clark. Dick stood there in the penthouse not believing what had just happened. He'd flown halfway around the world to save her and she just leaves him. He could hear the sound of boots running up the stairs and there were a lot of them.

"Shit!"

He got a running start and launched himself off the balcony into the dark night.

* * *

The Watchtower

Diana and Victor had spent several hours referencing and cross-referencing incidents where something similar happened to the events in Metropolis. There were no other incidents where 'Death' saved people, but there were quite a few where an unknown someone or something, was reported to be directly or indirectly involved. The problem was the descriptions varied wildly and there was no real way to connect them. Billy had seen a pattern, but then he was looking for a pattern. They tried not falling into the trap so many conspiracy theorists do of making connection between events that seem similar just because they seem similar.

It was frustrating and slow work. After several hours both of them felt like they needed a break.

"I'm sorry, Diana, I know you were hoping for more but I don't think it's there,' Victor said.

"No, don't be sorry, Victor, I appreciate all your help, really,' Diana replied. "I admit I was hoping for something else, but we can make things fit just because we want them to. When Bill showed me what he found, I must admit it was curious."

"That's why conspiracies are so popular,' Victor said with a smile. "They seem to make random, chaotic events seem understandable and part of some larger plan. It's why books like the Da Vinci Code are so popular. People like the idea that there is some secret and mysterious order to life instead of just randomness."

"I suppose,' Diana admitted. "I did think we were on to something though."

Her phone rang at that moment. She glanced at it and saw it was Steve.

"Excuse me a moment, Victor."

"Of course."

"Hello Steve."

As Victor turned back to the monitors to give Diana some privacy a thought came to his mind. Phones, he was tapped into basically every data network on the planet. While his brain was cybernetic, it still functioned similarly to a human brain. With all the stimulation and input a brain receives constantly it has to prioritize the information. It's a remarkable process when you consider it. Your mind takes in everything; yet almost instantaneously sort it all out into what matters most and what doesn't. Think of something as simple as a man driving a car and the huge amount of raw data his brain is processing. He's moving through space and so are the other cars around him. Sensory input comes from every direction and must be examined and calculated as what's the most importance on the fly.

So while Victor was examining the incidents that Billy found, bringing up the reports both from the media and the authorities, he'd also gone through all the 911 calls for those days. Like the man driving the car, his priority was on the road and other cars or in this case the incidents Billy had identified, but he heard the radio too or again in this case, the other 911 calls. Like the man in the car, now that he was stopped he could shift his focus to those background details like the radio or the other 911 calls. Quickly he ran through them again and that's when he saw the pattern, the real pattern. Victor turned to Diana excitedly.

"I found something."

She heard the excitement in his voice.

"Steve, something's come up, I'll have to call you back."

She didn't wait for him to reply.

"What, Victor, is it something we missed about Billy's incidents?" She asked.

"Not directly, but I found it when I was going through the 911 calls,' Victor replied. "Listen."

He played several calls, all of them apparently from anonymous calls phoning in about crimes or cases of abuse. Diana listened to them and then looked at Victor.

"They're all made by the same voice,' she observed.

"Yes, but here's the thing, Diana, those calls are from several different cities on different days,' Victor replied.

"It sounded like a young man," she offered.

"Yes it does,' Victor said with a big smile. "He's not Death, Diana, he's the Good Samaritan."

* * *

New Gammora

Dick realized he was in trouble. His attempt to rescue Kori hadn't gone as planned, which was a huge understatement, but he had other things to worry about. When she'd taken off after the guy floating outside her penthouse she had basically left him on his own to fend for himself. While Dick certainly could take care of himself, he wasn't averse to a little help now and then. Like right now, for instance, a little help would have been appreciated.

Kori's leaving the penthouse had set off the alarms, so now all that security had something to focus on. Picking his way back the way he came, Dick did his best to avoid the cameras, but now the drones had been brought into the search. All around him he could hear police, military and security forces descending on the capital and getting closer to his location all the time. If he could make it back to his hotel room, he still had a chance to pull this off, but with each passing second that was getting harder and harder.

That meant he had to take some risks. The first few paid off, gaining him valuable time and bringing him closer to his destination. The last one though turned out to be a miscalculation. The leap across the main thoroughfare was successful, but one of the drones spotted him. They began to descend on his location. He knew he couldn't outrun all five and frantically tried to think of an alternative. Just when he was sure he was going to be caught, five beams of red came from out of nowhere and destroyed the drones one after another. Dick didn't have time to wonder where they'd come from; he took off for his hotel room.

* * *

Clark chided himself for letting his anger get the best of him. It had been a stupid, risky thing to do confronting the princess, but it had also been rather satisfying much in the same way telling off the four women at the bar had. He could beat himself up over the mistake or chalk it up to a momentary lapse. Seeing the look on her face when he told her he knew it was a trap was making Clark lean towards the second option. It might have been rash, petty and juvenile, but how many times in anyone's life do they get to tell someone F-U and not have to worry about the consequences? Under his mask, a smile crossed Clark's face as he headed straight out to sea.

His anger had dissipated somewhat, so he was again focused on what he needed to do. While New Gammora was heavy on security and cameras, the quickest way away from all of them was out to sea. Dressed in black they might catch a blip on their radar or maybe a frame on their video, but they wouldn't be able to identify what it was. Lynch had probably already told the princess what his general look was, so that hadn't been too big a risk. He did have to wonder what she meant by she 'knew' what he was?

The star bolt hit him in the back, as his mind was preoccupied with that question. It sent him careening into the water.

* * *

Koriand'r was on his trail, but he was moving fast away from the island. This wasn't about Lynch or his plans anymore; this was about her saving the planet from someone she saw as a risk. She remembered all the stories her elders had told her as a child about the Kryptonians and their arrogance. They were most likely slanted in favor of her people much like how a story about being snubbed is told differently by the ones being snubbed than by those that did the snubbing. The Kryptonians had probably been a little arrogant. They were a very old, highly advanced race, much more than the Tamarans, so they probably saw little benefit to them from further contact. The Tamarans saw their formal 'no thank you' towards any further contact as an insult and that attitude had been passed down to future generations.

Armed with those stories, Kori's goal was one of making sure this arrogant bastard didn't threaten Earth. Just the way he'd shown up floating outside the penthouse and the way he'd spoke to her was enough for her to want to take him down a peg or two. She put on a burst of speed and fired at him. When he hit the water hard, she did smile a bit in satisfaction.

* * *

Clark sunk down into the ocean and turned over to see the princess hovering above. While Martha and Jonathan Kent had taught him to never hit a woman, he doubted they took into account one that could fire star bolts at him. It was when he saw the smile on her face that his anger returned. Launching himself out of the water, he grabbed hold of her leg and pulled, sending her splashing into the water below.

* * *

Kori anticipated him counter attacking, but she was still surprised by the speed at which he did it. One moment she was floating in the air and the next she was swallowing a mouth full of water as he dunked her in the ocean. When she emerged she saw him floating twenty feet away. Even with the mask on, she knew he was smiling. Brushing her soaked hair out of her face, she glared at him.

"Not so much fun when it happens to you, is it, princess?' He said.

"You're as arrogant as I heard your people were,' she fired back.

"My people?" He asked.

"Yes,' she replied. "I know what you are, Kryptonian! I won't let you do to this world what your people did to your own!"

She smiled in satisfaction, as he seemed surprised by this. She followed it up with another blast, but this time he managed to avoid it.

* * *

Her referencing Kryptonian threw Clark for a loop. He knew that's where he originally came from, but also that it had been destroyed. How she knew what he was he couldn't imagine. He managed to evade her next blast but had to wonder why she was so hostile towards his people. He was about to try and question her further when he heard something from back on the island. The young man, Dick, the one that had tried to rescue her was in trouble. The drones had spotted him and were closing on his location. Ignoring Kori, Clark fired five bursts of his heat vision back towards the island.

* * *

Kori instinctively ducked as the red beams came from his eyes, but then realized they weren't aimed at her. She responded by firing another star bolt at him, hitting him square in the chest. He was thrown back but quickly recovered.

"Your friend's in trouble, princess,' Clark said. "He was trying to rescue you, remember?"

Kori turned and looked back at the island. If Richard was in trouble it was because of her. As frustrating as it was, she had to help him first.

"This isn't over, Mr. Kent!" she shouted.

"It is for now,' he replied and then took off at an incredible speed. Kori watched him disappear and the turned and headed back towards new Gammora.


	13. Chapter 13

Klee – Senecio

Gotham

It was 10 in the morning on a beautiful, cloudless day as the private jet touched down. As he glanced out the window, Dick had to admit it felt good to be back home. The trip hadn't worked out quite the way he envisioned it, but the final results were what he'd hoped they'd be so he chalked it up as a win. There had been several tense moments. Koriand'r coming back and drawing the attention away from him had allowed Dick to make it back to his room before the authorities arrived. He had been held for questioning, as his alibi of being drunk and falling asleep on the floor raised a few eyebrows. Thankfully a large check arrived to cover any 'damages' and the authorities graciously allowed him to leave. Proving once again money talks and bullshit rots away in some foreign prison.

The trip had created more questions in Dick's mind than answers. Who exactly was the guy floating outside the window, Mr. Kent? What was his connection to Kori? They seemed hostile to each other, but her hostility seemed to have a much longer history to it than his did. Dick had an inkling of who Lynch was and that only raise more concerns about why Kori would be dealing with him. Why were they trying to trap the guy Kent and why were they in New Gammora in the first place? Those questions were going to have to wait though. Kori had taken off after drawing all the attention away from Dick, so when he'd see her again he wasn't sure. His immediate concern was getting back into Gotham, hopefully unseen. He knew it was a long shot but he figured he'd given himself the best chance.

Knowing Bruce, he would have been out late last night, so by arriving early Dick might slip in before he got up. Oh, Bruce would find him, Dick had no doubt about that, but when was the key. It was also a sunny day, which just symbolically should help. There had been no communications from Gotham to the plane, so their arrival was smooth. They taxied to the private hanger and stopped. The door open outwards and became a staircase for departing. Dick slipped on his sunglasses and took a deep breath. As he stepped to the door, he saw the car sitting right in front of it. Sitting on the hood with his arms crossed in front of him was Bruce Wayne. He wasn't smiling. Several thoughts went through Dick's mind, but one word seemed to encapsulate all of them.

Shit.

* * *

Tarzana – California

Clark was staying in one of the cheap motels along the Sunset Strip north of Hollywood. It was his first time in Los Angeles so he did some of the touristy things, but he was also considering his next move. It had been a gamble trying to make a deal with Lynch, but Clark wasn't going to beat himself up over the attempt. He knew it was a long shot from the beginning, but it seemed worth the risk. The disappointment and anger he felt towards Koriand'r had only been added to by her calling him a Kryptonian. How she knew that and what else she might know about his people was something he would need to find out eventually.

By now Lynch knew his plan hadn't worked so he would be expecting Clark to do something to retaliate. For once Lynch was right, Clark was going to retaliate, just not the way Lynch likely suspected he would. Clark's first thought was to drop in on Lynch's house, literally. As satisfying as smashing a gaping hole from the roof to the basement might be, Lynch probably had insurance. It was also the sort of thing that could be labeled an act of terrorism and that would put Clark on more lists not less. He still believed Lynch was the only one a deal might be possible with. Waller and the military were out of the question. What he needed to do was show Lynch how big of a mistake he'd made, to hurt him where it hurt the most, publicity. People in Lynch's business hate the spotlight especially when it comes to all their dirty little secret projects.

Lucky Clark had an eidetic memory so everything he read in the files on Lynch he remembered. He found an old IBM Selectric typewriter at a flea market and carried it back to his motel room. Another quick trip to Wal-Mart and he had some paper, although they no longer sell typing paper specifically. It's apparently gone the way of the guys with pagers on their belts. Clark had never thought about writing, so his first attempts ended up in the wastebasket. He bought the big pack of paper, so he had plenty to spare.

He found he was putting too much into it, too many details of different events for it to have a straightforward narrative that would have the impact he wanted. It took most of the night and the following day, but he finally felt like he had written what he wanted. He narrowed his focus down to one incident in Lynch's colorful career. Clark gave a broad overview of the topic and then filled in the details. It was a story about civilians being targeted, American civilians overseas. They hadn't been given due process of law like every citizen is supposed to they were targeted and killed on Lynch's orders. The ones killed weren't choirboys and probably had been involved in illegal activities but that wasn't the point. They were tried and convicted with out a trial or a jury and that supposedly wasn't how it should work. Truth and Justice were supposed to be the American Way, so hopefully Clark's story would see if that were true.

Now the only problem was where to send it to. Clark looked at all the obvious choices but there was no guarantee they would print it. Yes, he had the supporting documentation but you only had to look at the Edward Snowden case to see how swiftly the government came down on the reporter and paper that published his stuff. Most news outlets would probably be hesitant to publish something like the story, so Clark looked for alternative places. He found one surprisingly in Metropolis run by two old acquaintances. The LoCat Report was a side project for two of the reporters at the Daily Planet, Lois Lane and Cat Grant. It was mostly set up along the lines of the Drudge Report with links to news stories on other sites, but they were also using the Huffington Post model and allowing unpaid writers to publish. Clark sat back and smiled at the irony, the daughter of one of his pursuers publishing a story condemning one of his other pursuers. It had a nice symmetry to it in his mind.

Now there was just the matter of how to sign in. Clark wasn't going to use his own name. He went through he usual ones, concern citizen, Good Samaritan, etc, but none of those seemed right. It was a jab at Lynch and Clark wanted him to know it. It was then he hit n the idea of a symbol. Digging through the few possessions he had Clark pulled out one of the few items other than the crystals the Kents had taken from his space ship. It looked like a stylized S, but the little Clark knew about his origins told him it was actually the symbol for his family's house, the house of El. Using it as a stamp, he made the mark on the bottom of the story and then slipped the paper into the envelope.

* * *

Pacific

Kori had informed Lynch that the mission had been a failure. He'd not taken it well, but that wasn't really her concern. She returned to the secluded tropical island where her ship was and she spent most of her time hoping to forget the whole incident. She felt guilty over how she'd acted towards Richard, especially since he'd only come to help her. She would have apologized on New Gammora, but she assumed he less contact he had with her the better for him as far as the authorities went. That still left the matter of the Kryptonian, Mr. Kent. Kori knew she hadn't handle that well.

The problem was that while she had a difficult history with her people, she was still a Tamaran and proud of it. She had absorbed the stories like everyone else on her planet including the ones about the Kryptonians. In a way it would be as if you lived in another country besides the United States. Your people and country probably have a long and noble history that you're rightly proud of. So imagine what it would be like if you found out most Americans couldn't pick your country out on a map and really didn't give a shit about you, your people or your country. You'd be a little pissed.

(Side note – most Americans can't pick out the United States on a map either.)

Even without meeting one, you'd have a pretty dim view of them. So all that cultural baggage was there even before Kori met Clark. It was bound not turn out well. She told herself she should just let it go, but her mind kept returning to it. Reluctantly, Kori had to admit what bothered her was how she acted. She had let all those prejudices learned in childhood affect her. As an outsider on Earth she had faced the same sort of attitudes and should have known better. Yes, she still believed Kryptonians were arrogant, but that didn't mean she had to be too. She was Tamaran and they were better than that. She should have taken the high road. Kori vowed the next time she saw the Kryptonian things would go differently and she was sure there would be a next time. He might be able to hide from the humans, but she wasn't human, she was Tamaran.

* * *

Metropolis

The offices of the LoCat Report consisted of the spare bedroom in Jimmy Olsen's apartment. An ex-boyfriend of Cat's had set it all up the templates for them, so they only had to plug in the latest contain. The idea had grown out of a conversation about how the print industry was changing and if you didn't have digital footprint you were falling behind in the game. It was also a place where they could publish stories the paper hadn't wanted to run. For a small fee, Jimmy did most of the grunt work like updating the links daily. They had developed a small following on-line but it was really just a side project from their real jobs at the Daily Planet. Usually they just gave Jimmy the new links at work, but today Cat had picked up the mail from their P. O. Box and they were going through it in Jimmy's apartment. Lois was currently venting about a story of hers Perry had killed for the Planet, while Cat sorted the mail.

"It's just not fair, that was a front page story,' Lois complained. "It was obvious to anyone with half a brain who was bankrolling that operation, but would Perry run with it? No!"

Cat opened an envelop and pulled out the contains.

"Eww, gross, more photoshopped pictures of that girl from the Harry Potter movies,' Cat complained. "Here you go Jimmy."

"Thanks!"

Lois stopped mid-sentence and gave them both a look.

"He's got a thing for her,' Cat explained. "Part of our deal is he gets any pictures of her that come in."

"Please tell me you're not building a wall of creep dedicated to her are you, Jimmy?" Lois asked.

"What? No! I just think she's attractive and classy, that's all.' Jimmy said in his defense.

"You're not fiddling with your 'wand' when you look at them are you?"

"NO!"

"Lois, some times you can ask too many questions,' Cat offered as she continued to open the mail. 'What Jimmy does with those pictures after we leave is none of our business. I would emphasize after we leave though."

"You realize you're making me out to be some pervert, don't you?" Jimmy complained. "I think she's pretty, that's all. Now you're both tainted something that was pure."

"You do have a wall of creep, don't you?" Lois asked

"NO!"

Cat had opened another large envelope while Jimmy and Lois continued their discussion.

"Lo,' Cat said barely above a whisper as she looked at the contains of the envelope.

"The tainting something pure really has a weird vibe, is all I'm saying,' Lois said to Jimmy. "If you want to rub one out to some chick's picture that's your business but the whole pure thing kicks it over into Creepville."

"Lois." Cat said a little louder.

"You're doing it again, Lois,' Jimmy replied. "Can't a guy acknowledge he finds someone attractive and like looking at her picture when he's by himself without it being creepy?'

"No,' Lois replied.

"LOIS!" Cat shouted this time.

"What?"

Cat held out the article that had come in the package for Lois to read.

"It's big, really big, Lois,' Cat said. "I'm not even a news reporter and I know it's big."

Lois did a quick scan of the article and her eyes widened the more she read. She got the gist of it and then flipped to the last page to see who it was by. All she saw was a symbol, so she reached for the envelope Cat was still holding for a return address.

"It doesn't say who it's from? Or by for that matter,' Lois mused.

"I think the symbol is supposed to be like a signature,' Cat offered.

"A stylized S?" Lois replied. "Who's it from the Shadow?"

"Maybe it's like when Prince changed his name to just a symbol,' Jimmy suggested.

"Yeah, cause that worked out so well,' Cat replied. "So do you think it's legit?"

"I'll have to check these sources, but just from a quick glance it looks real,' Lois said.

"So you want to run with it on tomorrow's LoCat Report front page?" Jimmy asked.

Lois looked at Jimmy and then at Cat.

"Maybe we should take it to the Planet,' she suggested. "I mean we all do work there. This is big news, we should consider giving the first rights."

"No,' Cat replied. "If the symbol person wanted it in the Daily Planet they would have sent it there instead of to us. Whoever sent this wanted it published on the LoCat Report."

"I guess,' Lois admitted. "How about we put it up and then give it to the Planet too?"

"Only after we get the exclusive first look, Cat offered. "That's how we grow this business and maybe actually start making money off this."

"I like that idea,' Jimmy chimed in. "You two making money so you could actually pay me a real salary, let's go with that."

"We're not cutting into your 'alone' time are we?" Lois sarcastically asked.


End file.
